Si^tr^ 




Book T^P7 





/i^/:f:U 



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POETRY OP THE HEART 

BY 

WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 



BOSTON: 
PUBLISHED BY J. BUFFUM. 



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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1845, 

Bt W. & H. MERRIAM, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 






STBKEOTTPED BT S. N. DtCKINSOS & CO., BOSTOIT. 

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POETRY OF THE HEART. 



THEY LIE CETOXD. 

■ XtM miOc and the honey lie beyond ibh wilderness world.' - NettUton. 

Look round thee ! Is it bubble Fame, 

Or, to thy grosser shame, 

Is yellow Gold thy one desire ? 

For Pleasure is thy soul afire ? 

Earth cheats thy expectation fond ; 

Thy treasures lie bej^ond : 

Those riches glut Love's vrondrous mine; 

In chrysolites they flash and shine ; 

Haste, beggar! make them thine. 

Tlien, if Kcligion's pilgrim-child, 

Thou jounieyest through a desert, ■wild, 

Thou hast possessions lodged afar 

Above the lean and stormy sky. 

In worlds ne'er scanned by mortal eye, 

"Where ends the flight of sun and star. 

Thou mayst believe, but canst not know,— 

Poor captive, led by sin below, — 

How vast his joy who gains that gold, 

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POETRY OP THE HEART. 



Or, losing, how intense the woe ! 
Faith, only, may the prize unfold ; 
In vision free 'tis only seen ; 
And many a weary step 's between ; 
And siclcness, sorrow, toiling years, 
And sore temptations, sighs, and tears, 
And pains, and failing breath, 
And the last tyrant, Death ; — 
They lie beyond ! 

Look round thee ! See the sordid slaves, 
That creep to unremembered graves ; 
That eat and sleep, and buy and sell — 
To enrich a foolish heir. 
To them is Time but blank despair, 
Eternity a hell. 

What is their treasure ? "Wealth, that God 
Makes and unmakes, — a gilded toy, 
That in his hand becomes a rod, 
With which the triflers to destroy. 
Where lie their treasures ? Ask the Deeps, 
That suck them by whole cargoes dovni ; 
Ask Fire, that travels through the heaps. 
And in one night licks up a town. 
Wouldst be like them, to vegetate, 
A creeping thing, a moneyed clod. 
And never rise, to know how great 
May be a Man, the woi-k of God ? 
Wouldst be lilie them ! O, rather sleep 
On dunghills, and thy bitter crust 



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POBTEY OF THE EEAKT. '. 

Beg of the cruel ; ay, and weep 

For very anguish, till the dust 

Shall hide thee. If recorded ' Just,' 

When all is past, 

And thou at last 

Hast crossed in peace the cold, cold nver, 

All expectation fond 

Exceeding — thine the wealth forever, 

That lies beyond! 



PITY THE BLIND. 

rity the Blind ! —how sad his lot 

Whose all of life 's a wasting dream ; 
To whom the pleasant earth 's a blot, 

To whom the slues a mockery seem 1 
Whose ej'e in gladness never met 

In infancy a mother's eye ; 
If or mother's smile, that none forget ; 

Nor mother's tear, when ills were nigh I 

Pity the Blind ! —who, not without 

Some vision of a world of bliss, 
Is in his secret grief shut out 

From all the kindly joys of this. 
Who ne'er above may trace the hand 

That curtained out that starry hall ; 
Nor mark below, on sea and land, 

The skill that formed and fosters all. 

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POETKT OP THE HEART. 



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Joy to the Blind ! —for unto him 

Has knowledge her pure ray revealed; 
And intellect, that long lay dim, 

To life and light is now unsealed. 
And cheerfully his gladdened eye 

Looks o'er the broad expanse afar; 
The uncertain hope that vexed his sky 

Has trembled out a lovely star. 

Joy to the Blind ! — the favored Blind I 

Who revels in discovered store. 
And gazes, with the eyes of mind, 

On beauty dimly known before. 
Thou, that once didst chase the night 

From the blind men that cried to thee. 
Here art thou loftiest in thy might, 

For mind and soul are made to see ! 



DIRGE. 

Again let day thy depths illume, 
While kindly hands the corse prepare 

To lodge in thy embrace, Tomb I 
For long and silent slumber there ; — 

To find repose in manhood's morn, 
The path of life but briefly trod, — 

How few his toils who rests at dawn ! 
How blest, who early flies to God I 



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rOETP.Y OF THE HEART. 

'T is done — and Avhere the parents sleep, 
And Avhere the children's ashes lie, 

We bear it ; thou the treasure keep, 
Till Time and weary Nature die. 

And many a wintry storm will beat, 
And summer breeze will softly blow, 

And spring return with lingering feet, 
And autumn come with golden show ; 

And he will sleep, unheeding all — 
How calm that sleep ! how soft that bed ! ■ 

Till wakened by the trumpet-call 
That summons home the righteous dead. 



THE PUEITAIJ CITY. 

Behold, where all serene 

Her triple throne she fills. 
Our City ! like a splendid queen 

Upon her native hills. 

On these wild woodlands cast, 

In sight of savage foe, 
Men laid her strong foundations fast, 

Two hundred years ago. 



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10 POETET OF THE HEART. 

In storms they hewed the stone, 

In drought they felled the tree ; 
The power was theirs to slaves unknown, — 

They were the Mighty Free. 

They toiled, and prayed, and wept, 

As faith may pray and weep. 
That what the fathers wisely kept, 

The sons might wisely keep. 

They died — their faith, their fame, 

True witnesses will show ; 
They left this record of their name 

Two hundred years ago ; — 

Which, crowned in beauty, fair. 

Of domes and masts and spires. 
To children's clujdren shall declare 

The glory of the sires. 

Thou heardst their one request ; 

Us, Lord, with grace endue. 
That we, on whom their honors rest, 

May own their virtues too I 



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POETIIT OF THE HEAKT. 11 



MY CUP RUNNETH OVER! 

Mercies, my God, like waters, 

With me their course begun ; 
And, widening, deepening, sparkling, 

To this liour's pomt have run. 
Mercies, when strongly clinging, 

In weakness, to the breast ; — 
Mercies, in youth's hot fever, 

And manhood's sober rest. 

The stream is still unfailing ; 

Its voice is low and sweet ; 
I deem its ricliest music 

Is wliere home's treasures meet. 
And in her smile that soothes me, 

And in my children's shout, 
I see and hear but mercies 

That compass me about. 

Yet, more than aU, discerning 

The Source from which they spring, 
I, once that source forgetting. 

Can now its bounty sing. 
I praise tliee for the mercies 

Tliat round me freely flow. 
But praise thee most, my Saviour! 

That I their Author know. 

i 



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12 rOETKT OF THE HEART. 

And shall I, -when is ended 

This brief probation's day, 
Be endless gifts receiving, 

That never waste away ? 
How may thy lowly creature 

Endure the ' weight ' to bear, 
* Exceeding and eternal, 

Of glory,' given there I 



FOR THE WIDOW AND FATHEELESS. 

Who clings not in the waves of death 
To Mercy's promise, floating by — 
Nor breathes it in the latest breath, 
Nor sighs it in the latest sigh : 
' Leave, leave thy fatherless with me! 
I will the Orphan's Helper be I 
And when the husband sinks in dust. 
Look, widow, to the Widow's Trust 1 ' 

These words, like spices, have embalmed 

Decaying faith, and made it strong; 
Like starry eyes, their light has calmed 

Despair, and tumult turned to song. 
And when the angel swept his wing 
Of death, the stricken heart could bring 
Its holyhope and humble praj'er 
To God, and leave the treasures there I 

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POETRY OF THE HEAKT. 13 



'Tis His to pi'omise, — ours, through Him, 

The saci'cd promise to perforin, 
When life's horizon waxes dim, 

To come, as rainbows on the storm. 
This night shall Want the record bless 
That Mercy wrote : ' Ye fatherless , 
My stewards shall your helpers be, 
And widows', who have trust in me I ' 

And deem not Love too often calls 
On you to draw Affliction's darts ; 

The poor's appeal most kindly falls, 
Like dew, to moisten human hearts ! 

And since the hour the Saviour's head 

No shelter knew — the God his bread 

Lacked in Judea — it is true, 
' The poor ye always have with you.' 



AMANDA. 

My pretty one ! thou hast about my heart 
Twined thyself, closely, with thy little ways. 
And much that heart doth love thee, whose brief 
days 

But fourteen months comprise. My daughter 1 part 

Of every thought —my care, my joy, thou art. 

As oft times I upon thy future look, 
Desiring to spell out thy destiny 

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14 POETRY OF THE HEART. 



Written by heaven in its sealed book, 
"What hopes, what dreams, what wishes come 
to me! 
What smiles! what tears! The Shepherd — that 
once took 
Unto his bosom nurslings, like to thee, 
And kindly blessed them — in life's pathway wild, 
Lead thee by quiet waters, and, with crook 
And friendly staff, comfort and keep my child. 



TO A DEAF AKD DUaiB GIRL. 

Weep not, maiden, that thou never 
Canst thy ardent love express ; 

Weep not fate from thee doth sever 
All that would affection bless. 

Wouldst thou lighten this thy sorrow ? 

'T is the sigh thy bi-east will free — 
Wouldst thou soothing accents borrow? 

Tears we freely give to thee. 

Though like some surpassing flower. 
That the morning saw displayed. 

Rudely pressed by evening's shower, 
Every beauty seems to fade ; 

Yet the orb of glory risen. 
Bids the floweret droop no more : 

Thus the cheering dawn of heaven 
All thy graces shall restore. 



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FOETKY OF THE HEART. 15 



MY GEAVE. 
'Lay her i' the earth.' — BamUt' 

When I am dead, bear me not 

To rest within the hollow tomb ; 
But rather to some peaceful spot, 

Where earliest flowers of summer bloom ! 
And not in yonder crowded cell. 

My flesh with broken coffins lay, — 
Where shadows of oblivion dwell, 

And sullen silence wraps the clay. 

I would not that my wasted dust, 

Years hence, unfeeling eyes should scan, 
To mark the ravages that must 

Bring Aovm the form and pride of man. 
Nor would I that some busy friend. 

With curious eye, should in me trace 
The meanings that Decay doth lend, 

So fearful, to the altered face. 

I know that to the wearied bones 

It matters nothing where they lie ; 
Whether beneath the vaulted stones, 

Or grass that bends to Evening's sigh : 
Or whether round them drips the wall. 

In greenness and sepulchral damp, — 
The thoughts of these are idle all, 

When blotted out is Being's lamp ; — 



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16 POETEY OF THE HEART. 

When blotted out are we from earth, — 

The chasm made, so soon filled up ; 
"When others sit around our hearth, 

And drink of our relinquished cup ; 
When cold and senseless sleep we on, 

Though nations totter to their fall ; 
And calmly rest while worlds are won, 

Unheeding strife, —forgot by all. 

It matters nothing, —yet it seems 

"Unpleasant fellowship, to be 
Shut up with things, that in their dreams 

Of terror, men may only see : 
The livid company, that sleep 

Within that chamber of the dead I 
The solemn tenantry, that keep 

Their mansion, to corruption wed I 

Away ! away ! I would not shun 

The welcome summons to the grave ; 
If faith be kept and warfare done, 

Kot sweeter freedom to the slave, 
Than death to me ; —yet I would fain 

Lie down in some secluded dell, 
There, till by trumpet called again, 

On mother Earth to slumber well. 



. C) 

POETET OF THE HEART. 17 



THE HOUSE OF INDUSTRY. 

Go ! rear the dome whose portals, high, 
Gladly receive the child of sorrow ; 

Go ! wipe the tear from Misery's eye, 
And cheer the sad with hope of morrow. 

Affliction's wave thy bark may whelm. 
And tempests shroud thy sun of pleasure ; 

Then let Compassion sit at helm, 
And be sweet Charity thy treasure. 

Hear'st thou that mother ask employ ? 

She strives to check the tear that 's stealing ; 
Eer miseries are forgot — the boy 

She fondles, stirs tlie fount of feeling. 

Yon timorous girl implores relief— 
Obtained — 0, this shall soothe your sadness, 

Bear, helpless parents t banish grief, 
Your child will turn that griqf to gladness ! 

I covet not the frozen heart. 

Whose pulse to love is never beating — 
That bids the honest poor depart ! 

That gives not misery gentle greeting. 



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18 POETKY OF THE HEART. 



QUESTIONS. 

Would'st thou thyself search out, and know 

If self 's thy enemy or friend ? 
Look to thy thoughts, from their first flow 

To ■where the mighty currents end ; 
And thou thyself shalt surely know. 

To what is perfect, good, and true. 

Dost thou most easily incline ? 
These doth thy constant thought pursue, 

In earnest wish to make them thine ? 
Then art thou perfect, good, and true. 

To what is sensual, low, and base, 
Goes out thy wanton thought at will ? 

And hath corruption's image place 
To nestle in thy bosom still ? 

Then art thou sensual, low, and base. 

God to thy nature gave decree, — 
Of awful fear or hope the sum, — 

What mind beholds continually, 
Shall yielding mind at length become ! — 
Is glory, then, or shame for thee ? 



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POETKY OP THE HEART. 



— O 

19 



HYMN. 

God, our Infant congregation 

Lesson doth severely teach ; 
On its few and faithful numbers, 

Making, thus, a sudden breach. 
He, with sorrow's bitter waters. 

To the brim has filled the cup : 
And compelled a weeping household 

In our midst to drink it up. 

Table of the Lord ! that lately 

Saw her Calvary's Lamb adore — 
Sunday School ! in which she kindly 

Taught from her abundant store — 
Place of prayer 1 where she has tasted 

Purer joys than tongue may tell — 
She, to each and all, forever, 

In her silence speaks farewell I 

' Even so, our rightful Sovereign ! ' 

From our deep abasement, we 
Upward to thy sceptre looking, 

Only can reply to Thee. 
Even so, our gracious Father ! 

Faith, reposing on thy throne, 
Calmly answers : us Thou choosest, 

Deal, in mercy, with thine own. 



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20 rOETKT OF THE UEAKT. 

Tet our prayer receive, as opens 

Earth, to take its sacred trust ; 
Ere tlie last cold kiss we gather 

From the lip on which is dust — 
That this infant congregation, 

And this household, stricken so, 
Ma3' the blessing of bereavement, 

Sanctified^ forever know. 



'THE GREEKS HAVE EETIEED FROM US.'* 

"We leave him to his fatal choice ; — 
The work is great, probation wears — 

TVe noAV withdraw the living voice, 
Our influence, labors, hopes, and cares. 

"We leave him to his dreadful loss ; 

Forever ? — let the Spirit speak, 
"Who lifts the veil, and at the Cross 

Eeveals at last the vanquished Greek. 

We leave him, but the printed book, 
By millions furnished to his need — 

The mind, that has begun to look 
Above its fellow, is the seed 



* Doeumeuts of the Am. B. C. F. Missiona* 



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POETUy OF THE HEAKT. 21 

We 've buried, broadcast, in that soil ; — 

Our faith discerns it taking root ; 
And when we sleep in death, the toil 

Shall yield its thousand fold of fruit. 

Our children will behold those gems 

Of ocean — Samos, Sj-ra, Crete — 
All glittering in the diadems 

The Church shall cast at Jesus' feet. 

And Thessaly's hosanna-song 
Will answered be, from where are seen 

Dark-eyed Armenian converts throng 
The capital of Constantine. 

For never dies a work of love ! 

Though reckoned with our perished things ; 
Detained by prayer, the Holy Dove 

Still spreadeth o'er it silver >ving3. 



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22 POETRY OF THE HEAKT. 



APOSTEOPKE TO THE BKIG TONTENE; 

BOUND FOR GREECE, FROM PHILADELPHIA, WITH 
PROVISIONS FOR THE SUFFERING GREEKS : 

March 23. 1827. 

Sail on I and cheer men that have waited 
In sadness, troddei\ down, yet free ; 

Sail on ! for bark more nobly freighted 
rioughed never the dark-heaving sea. 

Smooth be the storm-swept deep before thee ; 

And may that God whom winds obey. 
While rainbow skies are laughing o'er thee — 

Speedily bring thee on thy way I 

And, as thy track thou 'rt proudly cleaving, 
On Mercy's errand o'er the main. 

Millions, upon the shores thou 'rt leaving, 
Prefer the prayer— 'tis not in vain — 

For Greece— her truly Spartan daughters, 
Blessings on these, her sons and sires ; 

For Stamboul— guilty seat of slaughters, 
Just retribution's chastening fires I 



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POETET OF THE HEAET. 23 



THE INCENDIABY. 

His brow is stem and liis cheek is cold, 

In liis scowl is fierce despair ; 
His visage is sunk, his eye is bold, 

The deed of darkness is there. 

For him aflfection nurtures no charm, 

No tear has the ruflaan shed ; 
Kind mercy to him can whisper no balm. 

His bosom is seared and dead. 

For him no dream of innocence rose. 

No rapture can memory hnpart ; 
The genial tide of compassion is froze. 

Revenge has withered his heart. 

The bliss of a home he ne'er can feel. 
Its sweets his curses would blight ; 

He grasps the brand and the thirsty steel. 
Desolation and death his delight. 

In the cavern of crime his haunt is known ; 

There the furies of blasphemy dwell : 
At midnight the torch of destruction is blown, 

And he writhes with the laugh of heU. 



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24 POETKT OF THE HEART. 



COME FROM A WOELD. 

come from a "world where sorrow and gloom 

Chastise the allurements of joy ; 
A pathway bedimmed, with no rays to illome, 

Save the meteor that shines to destroy. 
Where the thoughtless have revelled when mirth 

had no charm, 
Where the wounded have wept, but still needed 
the balm. 

come from a world where the landscape is chill. 

Or deceitfully blossoming fair, 
The garden gives promise of bright flowers, still 

The nightshade luxuriates there. 
That sky now serene, blushing lovely and clear, 
heed not its beauty, the storm-cloud is near. 

come from a world where the cup of delight 

Now sparkles and foams at the brim ; 
For the laurels that wreath it reflection shall 
blight. 
Its lustre, repentance shall dim. 
The lips that in madness have pledged thee the 

bowl. 
Shall blanch with confusion when fear rives the 
soi^l. 



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POETKT OF THE HEART. 25 



O come from a world where they that beguile 

Will load thee to peril and fears ; 
For the heart that confiding has "welcomed its smile, 

Has found it the prelude to tears. 
Come, then, there's a path by the reckless untrod, 
O come, weary wanderer I it leads thee to God. 



The loss of the breath from a beloved objeot, long suffering in pain and 
certainly to die, ia not so great a privation as the last loss of her beautiful 
remaios, if they continue so. The victory of the grave ii sharper than the 
Bting of death. — Moore'a Life of Slieridan. 



0, let her linger yet awhile 

With me — that lovely clay — 
Those features where death seems to smile — 

0, let her longer stay. 

Let me again adorn her hair 

With flowers she loved so well ; 
Again that bosom seek, and there 

My every grief dispel. 

She'll not reprove, though love detains 

Her here awhile, for she 
Was dear, and dear are her remains ; 

0, let her stay with me. 

6 



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26 POETET OF THE EEAET. 

I'll sit beside her, and I'll deem 
I do but watch her sleep ; 

She looks so heavenly in that dream, 
I cannot choose but weep. 

It may not be — that altered brow 
Tells of corruption's hour ; 

It may not, must not be I and now 
O Death, I feel thy power. 

To thee my wedded love I gave, 

In silent sorrowing ; 
Yet is the victory of the grave, 

Severer than thy sting. 



I dreamed of loveliness. The gay romance 
Of vagrant fancy, in fair vision came. — 
Hope waved her Avings, and Expectation, big 
With promise, hovered. On a river's brink 
Methought I stood, whose tranquil waters slept 
Beneath the sunbeam. Mighty vessels rode 
Upon the curling billow. The tall bark. 
Her streamers floating on the breeze, urged on. 
With Laughter at the helm, and one 
Bunt by the hand of Pleasure for her o-vvn. 
Sped foremost of the train. A lovely skifiF, 
By fairy toil apportioned. Her light prow, 

C C 



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POETKT OF THE HEAKT. 27 

Glided in beauty o'er the sparkling deep, 

"With speed that mocked the dolphin. Her -white sail, 

As now it caught the sun's reflected ray, 

Coursing along the waters, to the ej^c, 

Seemed like a fleecy cloud, with burnished skirts, 

Descending from its height to kiss the wave. 

Her freight was Childhood. Suddenly the sun 

Withdrew his fires, and night usurped the day. 

The tempest gathered, and rude, startling peals 

Rolled o'er the firmament. With fitful scream, 

The affrighted sea-bird fled its troubled nest, — 

The deep rose up to heaven, the lurid glare 

Of lightning flashed on death — I saw no more. 

Again I looked, the bark had disappeared, 

But ever and anon the surging tide 

Disclosed the shattered rib, or broken spar, 

Sole relics of her beauty. Men beheld. 

And some with apathy — some mourned. I dreamed 

Yet once again, and to my vieAv was one 

Wlio walked in j'outhful beauty, the desired 

Of many hearts, object of tender love. — 

he Avas fair ! his cheek had stolen the dye 

Of May's first bud, —his eye spake the delight 

Of artless boyhood. On his open brow 

Sat the calm look of cheerfulness, and there 

Truth had its seal. None knew him but to love : 

Yes, he rejoiced in pure aflfection's ray, 

That on his warm heart shone, reflecting thence 

Its holy peace, its true tranquillity. 

He looked abroad to heaven in conscious joy, 

) . : . 



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28 P02TKT OF THE HEART. 



And saw his sun j'et In its morning course. 
The stern death-angel came, and he was not I 
A heart- wrung father pressed his snowy lip, 
A mother agonized upon her child, — 
The grave received him ; — I awoke and wept. 



PRECIOUS DUST IS THAT ! 

* So you see the end of that coffin there 7 ' asked the sexton. < FieciouB 
dust 13 that.' — Poitoral Sketches. 

As looking down this silent vault, 

You seek the wasting dead. 
Dost see, just by the narrow door 

Beclined, that coffin's bead ? 

And that is William's humble couch. 

His quiet dwelling, M'here 
He resteth from his pilgrimage ; 

And precious dust is there. 

And blessed is his memory, 

Though thundered not by fame ; 
'Tis treasured in our Sunday School ; 

The children lisp his name. 

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POETRY OF THE HEAHT. 



29 



He had no garnered gold, yet he 

In faith was rich indeed ; 
Only to plant sufficed him not : 

Prayer watered, too, the seed. 

He had no learning. What could one 

Thus poor and loAvly do ? 
Much, in that Avhitcned fleld, whose gains 

Are neither small nor few. 

And there he toiled, and watched, and wept, 

Believing from the root 
Thus nurtured, would the Spirit bring 

Immediate, living fruit. 

And now he resteth. Pure in lifCi 

How calm in death was he I 
Like him, a bright and blessed one^ 

0, Jesus, may I be ! 

As I look do■^\'n this sepulchre, 

His coffin meets me tirst : 
I moved it there, for pleasant 'tis 

To me, to see his dust. 

His friends oft cluster here. Of peace 
What thoughts come over them, 

While Avliispering of the casket, where 
Is hid so rich a gem ! 



p 

30 POETEY OF THE HEART. 

Not SO. The gem, across whose ray- 
Death's shadow was not thrown — 

So beautiful, God's hand hath set 
With jewels of his ovra. 

And in that day of beams, to wMch 

All other daj'S are dim, 
Who would not, 'mid the shuddering flight 

Of worlds, be found with him ? 



LAY OUT THE DEAD. 

Lay out the dead, and robe the clay, 
The limbs composed, the eyelids sealed — 

And all affection fain would pay 
Of holy office, duly yield ; 

riant freshest flowers beside the bier. 

And wet them with the earnest tear. 

Then, kept ft-om that dull, beckoning tomb, 
One day, pennit its guest to be ; 

That day is Sunday ! and there's room 
To look for grace on thine and thee. 

O, hurry not the clay to clay 1 

Let it abide with thee to-day I 



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POETET OF THE HEART. 31 

Auoint thine head and wash thy face, 
And up from tears and doubt and dust ! — 

And ■where sweet bells proclaim the place, 
Take all thy cares in Christian tnist.* 

Thy dead returns no more to thee ! 

Thy dead, restored, thy faith shall see I 

Thy prayer will pierce the eternal dome 

The sooner for thy true belief; 
And thought of that untroubled home 

Which holds no dead, will calm thy grief. 
In answer to the sigh of sorrow 
Shall strength be given for the morrow. 

The morrow come — ' with dirges, due, 

And sad array,' in funeral train. 
Bear hence, and bury from thy view 

The form thou shalt not see again, 
Till, to the judgment, great and small 
Are summoned, at the trumpet's call. 

Thou 'st kept the precept ! — who have kept 

Its letter in belief and love, 
Ifor o'er its spirit idly slept. 

Have treasure laid for them above, — 
On which they draw, nor drain the store : 
Such drafts increase it but the more. 

* It is a custom (not to say superstitioD) in man; places, for the vhola 
famllj to abstain from public worship on the Sabbath, while the dead is 
In their dweilinj. 

, 4 



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32 POETRT OF THE HEART. 



TRIUMPHATE ! 

FOR THE MISSIONARIES OF THE CROSS, "WHO HATE 
LAID DOWN THEIR LIVES IN HEATHEN LANDS. 

TVe give Thee hearty thants for the good example* of all those, thy ser. 
rants, nho, having finUhed tbett course in faith, do now rest from their 
labors. — Common Prayer, 

Though rude the path they trod, 
They 've journeyed up, God 1 

Safely to thee. 
Thou givest them a seat, 
With elders at thy feet, — 
"What can their bliss complete? 

Eternity I 

Before Thee, who cast down 
Green palm and starry crown 

With joy like these? 
"Wliat is past peril now ? 
What is death's sharpness now? 
Their martyr-hymJi peals now 

As sound of seas. 

Shall plague and pagan spear, 
The widow's, orphan's tear, 

Our hearts appall ? — 



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POETRY OP THE HEAET. 



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33 



The prison, i*od, and chain, 
Daj^'s toil, and nights of pain, 
To that immortal train 

"What are they all ? 

Who 's girded for the race ? 
Who freely talces their place ? 

Tell us ! 0, tell ! 
Who '11 labor, faint, and die ? — 
Terish, to reign on high ? - 
Speak ! —for these wait reply — 

Heaven, Earth, and Hell ! 

The church's chivalry 
Cry, Saviour, here are vre I 

Beneath thy Tving 
Folded, though weak, we 're strong — 
Though slain, to us belong 
Victories — to Thee the song 

We '11 give, Great King I 



-n 



o o 

•34 POETRY OF THE IIEAKT. 



THE MISSI02TARY'S GRAVE IK THE DESERT. 

In a foreign soil he sleeps, 

And lowly is his bed : 
No early wild-flower weeps 

Where he pilloweth his head. 

By strangers he was laid 

Where the Siroc sweeps the mound ; 
Where caravans invade 

The solitude profound. 

The grief of a tender brother, 
That hillock ne'er has knowTi ; 

The tears of a yearning mother 
Ne'er dropped upon that stone. 

No marble tells his worth ; 

No sculptured wreaths proclaim 
That the messenger of truth 

Has gained the martyr's name. 

But the heart of affection true 

Sighs o'er the sandy wave ; 
And the wanderer's tears bedew 

The Missionary's grave. 



^ o 



POETKT OF THE HEART. 35 



TO MY LITTLE SON, TAVO MONTHS OLD. 

They said that I should give to thee 

The name thy elder brother wore, — 
Thy absent brother, whom mj' knee 

llath dandled, whom I hold no more. 
I cannot give thy brother's name 

To thee, my little infant son ! 
In dust he sleepeth, yet the same 

He seems as either precious one 
Of those that still remain with me : 
I cannot give his name to thee ; 

The pla3-thing on our parlor floor, 
Who with us is no longer seen, — 
0,no! I call thee not Eugene ! 

'T would seem to blot him from his place ; — 

Though he to fill our bitter cup. 
Hath died, I cannot thus efface 

His memory. No ! I reckon up, 
With these dear children, the loved others 

Who slumber in their earl}' grave, 
As mine. I cite their several names — 

The buried with their living brothers, 
And sister, that my JMaker gave, 

And love as well the absent claims 
As those around my fireside seen, — 
0, no ! I call thee not Eugene ! 



O Q 

36 rOETRT OF THE HEART. 



MAY. 

Month of May ! I wonder why 

Poets ever sang of thee ; 
Thou art present here, yet I 

Nought of Ma\-, the charmer, see. 

All thy skies are clouded o'er ; 

Either east winds coldly blow, 
Or comes down the feathe.ry store. 

Lingering yet, of Winter's snow. 

I have looked to see the bright 
Sunsets of thj' mellow day ; 

But was glad, by anthracite 
Sitting, to forget 'twas May. 

I went out upon th3'- Fii-st, 

Balni3^ breezes to inhale, 
But 't was raw as Christmas, just ; 

Lips and cheeks were blue and pale. 

Yesterday I strolled to make 

Posies, as I used to do ; 
But I got an ague shake. 

And a spell of coughing too. 

If cold weather, now thy mate, 
Takes a hint, and will retire, 

By July, I calculate, 
"We may do without a fire. 



POETKT OF THE HEART. 37 



COME, SMILING JUNE! 

come, smiling June ! 

In beauty arrayed ; 
come, and bring -with thee, 

Young Pleasure, fair maid; 
O come from thy mountain, 

come from thy bower, 
Thou queen of the fountain, 

The breeze, and the flower! 

come, smiling June 1 

Bid the meadows rejoice ; 
With Health thy companion, 

And Labor thy choice ; 
"Where lately in triumph 

Stem winter was seen, 
Pomona shall mantle 

Her livery pf green. 

No more let the minstrel 

Sing enraptured of May ; 
Thy beauties, fair season, 

Shall waken his lay ; 
Thy morn is serener, 

And brighter thy noon ; 
Thy evening more lovely, 

come, smiling June ! 



-c 



as PUETlir OF THE HEAKT. 



THE BAR jVIAID. 

I saw a lovely girl — it was at church — 
"Who knelt in her simplicitj' to God, 
And gladly Avorshipped. As she lifted up 
Her calm blue eyes in confidence to heaven, 
And her sweet lips were parted in low prayer, 
I thought that never had been seen on earth 
Such likeness unto angels. Presently 
She approached the supper of the Crucified, 
With meekness and humility of step, 
Revealing lowliness of heart. Arid there. 
As she partook the s.vmbols of His death, 
And trembling touched the blest memorials. 
Her dark lids swam with tears of penitence. 
And holy hope, and joy that passeth words. 

Again I saw her — 't was the same — she stood 
Beneath her father's roof. 
It was a room unseemly to the sight — 
Ranged round were cups and flasks, on which was 

seen 
The name of Alcohol. The iWace was filled 
"With vulgar men. The thoughtless youth was there, 
Just learning his sad lesson. Aged heads. 
Clustering and ripening for the grave, were there : 
And there the filthy debauchee. Strange oaths 
And laughter rude I heard. The jest obscene 
"Went round : and some were reeling in their diink. 

3 O 



o o 

POETKT OF THE HEART. i 



Aud she — yes, she, thsit beauteous one, that sweet 
Young blossom, stood amid the tahited crew, 
As 'twere a pure, bright spirit, suddenly 
Brought in its skiey freshness to the damned. 
She stood behind the bar ; her lilj' hand 
Toured out the nauseous draught, and mixed and 

reached 
The poison to those outcasts. "With vile leer. 
That withered up, methought, her virgin charms, 
Tliose bad men gazed on her, and laughed and drank. 
And still they drank, and still she filled the cup 
And gave it them, and heard their brutal talk, 
And songs of hell. 

Her sire is counted one 
Of the pillars of the church. He duly praya, 
Gives alms, and deems himself a journey er 
To heaven. And he his daughter offers thus, 
A daily holocaust, acceptable 
Unto the Moloch Kum : and unrebuked. 
For money renders up his guiltless child ; 
And she, obedient, thus is sacrificed. 



6- 



i — -■ . 

40 POETEi' OF THE HEART. 



SONG 

OF THK THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND DKUNKAEBS 
IN THE UNITED STATES. 

"We come ! we come ! with sad array, 

And in procession long, 
To join the army of the lost, — 

Three hundred thousand strong. 

Our banners, beckoning on to death, 

Abroad, we have unrolled ; 
And Famine, Care, and wan Despair 

Are seen upon their fold. 

Ye heard what music cheers us on, — 

The mother's cry, that rang 
So wildly, and the babe, that wailed 

Above the trumpet's clang. 

"We 've taken spoil ; and blighted joys 

And ruined homes are here ; 
We 've trampled on the tlirobbing heart, 

And flouted sorrow's tear. 

We come ! we come ! —we 've searched the land, 

The rich and poor are ours ; 
Enlisted from the shrines of God, 

From hovels and from towers. 



— o 

I'OETET OF THE HEART. 41 

And who or what shall balk the brave, 

That swear to drink and die ? 
What boots to such man's muttered curse, 

Or His that spans the sky ? 

Our Leader ! —who of all the chiefs. 

Warring for glory's lust, — 
Can boast, like him, such deeds, such griefs, 

Such wounds, such tropliies, curst? 

We come ! Of the world's scourges, who 

Like him have overthrown ? 
What woe had ever earth, like woe 

To his stern prowess known ? 

Onward ! though ever on our march. 

Hang Misery's countless train ; 
Onward for hell — from rank to rank 

Pass we the cup again ! 

We come ! we come ! to fill our graves, 

On which shall shine no star ; 
To glut the worm that never dies, — 

Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! 



-o 



o 9 

42 POETUr OF THE HEAKT. 



THE FLOWER. 

A Hinda, after spending some years in secluaion. and in endeaToring to 
obtain the master; over ins passions, came to a mission station, where 
he thus accosted the missionary : ' I have a flower, a precious flower, to 
present as an offering ; but as yet I have found no one worthy to receive 
it.' Hearing of the love of Christ, he said, ' I will offer my flower to 
Christ, for he is worthy to leceire it.' Xliis flower was his heart. Jesus 
accepted it, and after a short time ti-ansplanted it, to bloom in the bowers 
oC £dcn. 

The Hindu said, ' I have a flower, 
Of tlie morning's earliest bloom ; 

A flower of grateful ofl'ering, 
I '11 give it — but to whom ? 

I have looked on Beauty's glorious smile. 

And thought to nestle it there ; 
But while I gazed, her loveliness 

Faded into thin air. 

I have looked on Greatness ; but with him 

My flower could ne'er abide ; 
Within his cold and stately halls 

The blossom would have died. 

I stole a glance at Pleasure's seat, 
And searched within its bower ; 

But in its poisonous air dwells not 
The gentle virgin flower. 



-^-w 



-o 



o o 

POETUY OF THE IIEAKT. 43 

Fearing the world, I give it tliee, 

O Clirist, to bloom above ; 
Take thou and hide my timid flower 

Within tliy bosom's love ! ' 

Kot long for earth — upon its sweets 

Heaven bent approving eyes, 
And soon was seen this lovely germ 

Blossoming in the skies. 



WOMAIT. 

By "Woman's words, to man so well seducing, 
Came sin's accursed entrance and our woe ; 

She, the unhallowed science introducing, 
Of good, forbidden, taught us ill to know. 

By Woman's lips were first the accents spoken. 
To cheer a world whose hope Avas in the grave ; 

That Jesus had the three-days' slumber broken, 
And, rising, showed that He was strong to save. 

She, from free Eden to the earth's dark prison, 
Led Adam, by the flattery of her tongue ; 

She unto Peter told, ' The Lord is risen ! ' 
In melody like that to sweet harps strung. 

6 



'J o 

44 POETRY OF THE HEART. 

By Woman, then, tho' sometimes cometh sorrow, 
And who of mortals is exempt from this ? — 

By "Woman's love, besides the hope of morrow, 
There 's full fruition of the present bliss. 

She, in life's sunshine, will increase life's pleasure, 
By social converse, and the charms of mind ; 

She, in affliction, will be found a treasure, 
To soothe the heart and banish care, unkind. 

She, in youth's journey, from the wayside flower 
Will pluck the thorn , lest it should give thee pain ; 

In age still constant, and in death's last hour, 
A helper when all other help is vain. 

Go, then, ye heartless ! to whom Woman never 
Brings up pure images of peace and home, 

And fireside joys, and faithful care, whenever 
Pale sickness seizes, or afflictions come ; 

Go to that selfish love the cold world offers. 
And find your solace, if indeed ye can ; 

For me, I '11 ever seek, despising scoffers, 
Her virtuous smile — God's richest boon to man ! 



6 o 





POETRY OF THE HEAKT. 45 



THY WANDERING BOY. 

And has he all thy lOA-e forgot ? 

Thy early, anxious care — 
Are thy gray hairs remembered not ? 

To prayer, then, sire ! —to prayer! 
For if thy boy has turned aside, 

And chosen folly's way, 
And for th}- tears Avith scoffs replied, 

What canst thou do but pray ? 

Is he a wanderer from thy dome, 

On the world's tossing sea; 
Where, dreaming not of heaven or home, 

Thy son is lost to thee ? 
Still, as sad rumor to thy ear 

Tells heavily, how frail thy stay, 
To Him who bottles every tear. 

Go, stricken man, and pray. 

Perhaps, upon the bed of pain, 

Away he lies, a victim now ; 
And seeks a father's hand in vain, 

Whose touch might cool his burning brow ; 
While thinking of the holj' joy 

Thou knew'st, ere sin knew to betray, 
For him, that lovely, ruined boy. 

Do thou, in earnest, pray. 



, o 

46 POETKT OF THE HE.UIT. 



By the bright spring of childhood's love, 

That in his countenance once shone ; 
The eye, where meekness like a dove 

Sat once — the brow, contentment's throne; 
The beauty that unto thy heart 

Appeals with poAver of boyhood's day, 
Go, aged father! weep apart. 

And, trembling — hoping — pray. 

And if, for thee, there linger yet 

The dregs of this world's bitterest cup, 
The God thou serv'st will not forget 

To give thee grace to drink it up. 
Yet no ! not thus will praj'cr be lost, 

Thou yet shult bless that castaway. 
And see for him, the folly-tost. 

The penitent — 'twas good to pray. 



VERSES 

TO THE PEESIDENT OF THE A5IERICAK SUNDAY 
SCHOOL UNION. 

Thou ! at the source 
Of living streams, exhaustless, priceless, free — 
To which a million minds have glad recourse. 
Excuse my verse to thee. 



-6 



Q 

POETKT OF THE HEAKT. 47 



Thy honored hand, 
In no ambiguous characters, that set 

Thy name to sheets* like this, in a far land 
I 've seen and loved ; —I love to see it yet. 

The slender stroke, 
Kevealing nerves by vice unshaken ; — thoa 

Ke'er knewest such ; — to virtue's yoke 
Was ever sweetly bent thy temperate brow. 

And I 've admired 
The slender curve, the manly swell ; 

An autograph to be desired ; — 
For these, the finished penman tell. 

Lord of an art. 
Befitting him, who, on the busy 'Change,' 

Or at his ' compts,' enlightened head and heart 
Brings to his toil, in all its complex range. 

And thus, for years. 
Thy manual 's met me, where I 've loved it best ; 

Attesting their benevolence, Avhose tears. 
And prayers, and alms are given for ' the West.' 

Yet I have seen, 
As imperceptibly as die the flowers — 

A change come o'er thy venerable mien ; 
So fancy deems — that tells of waning powers. 



* A Life-membeisliip Certificats of the Society. 



O Q 

43 POETRY OF THE HEART. 



I cannot mark 
The day, or j'ear, Tvhen this began ; 

"When in the imperfect fonn, the unequal arc, 
The faltering line, I traced tiie failing man. 

I saw and said ; 
' This is Time's work ; —has he declined ? 

Then up ! my heart, right soon, for Him who 
bled; 
Ere in their frosty fetters, Years thee bind. 

' Ere tlpstaflf Death, 
WTio got his baton when our father fell — 

Shall serve his warrant, seize thy forfeit breath. 
And prison thee where nor device nor labors 
dAvell. 

' For here and there 
Start up the heralds of thy hasting age ; 

And the true sentinel, the sad gray hair. 
Calls tliee to think anew, ere shuts the mortal 
page.' 

I saw and felt 
'Tis time to * cease from man* — each earthly 
shrine 
Has only mocked my spirit as she knelt ; — 
I turn to altars heavenly and divine. 



6' 



i 



-o 



POETRY OF THE HEART. 49 

Enough to know, 
For thee, of patriarch da3'S ! that kindly comes 
thy token ; 
And what if ' Music's daughters are brought low ?' 
And soon ' the silver cord is loosed, the golden 
howl is broken?' 

What if the blast 
Of wintry j-ears has visited thy frame ; 

And all who love thee, calling up thy past, 
To gaze upon thy present, feel thou 'rt not the same 

'T is not the Man 
Decays — the flesh its garniture is la3'ing by, 

That so the spirit (waxing stronger) can 
Most easilj' ascend, when bid to fly. 

Enough to know 
Thou 'rt changed in grace too ! for continual flight 
These years, to God, was thine ; — and from 
dark earth below, 
"When taking wings, 't will be for His pure light. 



IDOLS REJECTED. 

She listened to the appeal 
For heathen, far awaj' ; 

I saw the tear of pity fall. 
And heard the beauty say : 
4 



o 

50 POETRY OF THE HEAET. 

0, God ! these glittering toys, 

Unreal as they be, 
Have, to my erring eyes, outshone 

The light that beams from Thee. 

This chain of virgin gold. 
Gift of my mother's love. 

Has linked unto the Avorld below 
Thoughts due to worlds above. 

This coronal of pearls 
That wantons on my brow, 

I hate it ; for the pagan's tear 
Blots out its lustre now. 

The sparkling diamond, more 
This bosom shall not wear ; 

Its lustre only would reveal 
The folly hidden there. 

Nor shall my heart refuse 
Earth's baubles to resign ; 

Is not salvation's priceless pearl, 
The gem of heaven, mine ? 

Thus, on the altar laid, 
This sacrifice shall bum 

In purifying flame, from which 
No idol shall return. 



-o 



o o 

POETRY OP THE HEAKT. 51 



THE BELL OF THE REV0LUTI02T. 

On the old State House Bell, in Philadelphia, Trhich waa east in that 
city, Beverol years before the American itevolution, is the folloTfing pro- 
phetjo inscription : < Proclaim Libebtt throughout all the land, unto all 
the inhabitants thereof.' — Leviticus 25 : 10. The ringing of this bell gave 
the first intelligence of the signing of the DeclaraUon of Independence. 

'T was fitting, that, throughout the land, 

The anointed bell proclaim 
The triumphs of a glorious band, 

And their invaders' shame : 
'T was fitting, that its merry peal 

Should fling out silver tones, 
That did, before, the word reveal 

So terrible to thrones. 

Talk not of chance ! the word that went 

To Israel's tribes of yore. 
Free as the winds of heaven, was sent 

To this far western shore : 
Our fathers spake it in distress — 

A small and feeble flock — 
They hymned it in the wilderness, 

And wrote it on the rock. 

Talk not of chance ! for well Jie knew — 

The founder — that his art 
Graved only here the impress true, 

Already on the heart : 

o 6 



o 

52 POETRY OF THE HEART. 

And well he deemed that liberty 
Should one day wake the sword, — 

Around the hearths of all the Free, 
It was a cherished word, 

Known, not in vain imaglnmgs, 

To wake up idle strife ; 
But treasured as a holy thing. 

Dearer to heart than life. 
Nor marvel ye, the voice thus pent 

Within the conscious breast, 
At times, through some unguarded vent, 

Should rush forth unrepressed. 

Interpreted, it truly told 

Of high Oppression's knell ; 
Of banners beckoning, garments rolled 

In blood — that warning Bell ! 
Yea, also, that from martyr-graves 

Columbia's living seed 
Should spring — the scourge of sceptred slaves, 

The bulwark of her need. 

Talk not of chance I Not onl}' here. 

Forth goes the unerring sound ; — 
It stirs another hemisphere, 

A world shall be unbound ! 
And children, rescued from the yoke, 

Shall to their children tell 
Of the immortal deed that woke 

The Eevolution's Bell. 

6 



o ■ ( 

POETRY OF THE HEAET. 63 



MISSIONARIES. 

Onward, ye men of prayer! 
Scatter, in rich exuberance, the seed 
"Whose fruit is living bread, and all your need 

Will God supply — his harvest ye shall share. 

To him. child of the bow, 
The wanderer by his native Oregon, 
Tell of that Jesus, who, in dying, won 

The peace-branch of the skies — salvation for his 
foe. 

The banner of the Lord 
Lift up on other shores. The cross bid shine 
O'er ever}'- lovely hill of Palestine ; — 

The star of glorj' that shall never set 1 

Seek ye the far-oflf isle ; 
The sullied jewel of the deep, 
O'er whose remembered beauty angels weep, — 

Restore its lustre, and to God give spoil. 

Go, break the chain of caste ; 
Go, quench the funeral pyre, and bid no more 
The Indian river roll its waves of gore. 

Look up, thou East I thy dreadful night is past. 

6 



o 

64 POETET OF THE HEAET. 



To heal the bruised, speed ; 
Go, pour on Africa the balm 
Of Gilead, and, her agony to calm. 

Whisper of fetters broken, and tlie spirit freed. 

And thou, Church, betake 
Thyself to watching, labor — help these men. 
God shall thee visit, of a surety, when 

Thou 'rt faithful — Church that Jesus bought, 
awake ! awake ! 



TO THE CROSS. 

Symbol of shame — mysterious sign 
Of gi-oans, and agonies, and blood, 
Hail, pledge of love and peace divine 
From God. 

Symbol of hope to those that stray, — 

The pilgrim's step is led to thee ; 
Star of the soul, thou guid'st the way 
To Calvary. 

Symbol of tears — I look, and mourn 

His woes, whose soul for mine Avas riven ; 
"Where wanderer, is thy due return 
To heaven ? 



-o 



o 

POETRT OP THE HEART. 55 

Symbol of empire — thou shalt rise 

And shine, •where lands in darkness sit, 
On Indian domes that greet the skies, 
And minaret. 

Symbol of glory — evermore 

Pales at thy side the diadem ; 
Shine, blessed Cross, while worlds adore 
Immanucl's gem ! 



TO MY FATHER'S OLD BIBLE. 

•It is the book of God. What if I should 
Say, God of books ? ' The SynagoguOt 

Faded and worn, 0, holy book. 

To me much charm hast thou ; 
For sadly cometh on my gaze 

Long buried pleasure, now ! 
And as I ope thy blessed leaves, 

My father seemeth near ; 
I hearken to his voice, and see 

The hand that once was here. 

I note the precept that he marked ; 

With reverence scan the line ; 
The texts on which his eye hath paused, 

Arrest, not seldom, mine. 



■o 



o- 

56 POETRY OF THE HEART. 

I heed again the counsel kind, 

Which, to enforce Avith care, 
He taught me to repeat, as I 

Leaned o'er his elbow chair. 

The years come back, -when, frolic done. 

At twilight's sober hour, 
I duly joined the household hj-mn. 

And prayer for shielding poAver. 
Can I forget the tones of peace 

That blent with pious awe. 
When read my sire of gospel love, 

Or of the holy law ? 

Can I forget the clustering pearls 

He gathered then from thee — 
The which the world is poor to buy, 

Yet to the world are free ? 
0, as he read that earthly joj'S 

Would like a dream depart. 
He prayed that heavenly blessings 1 

Might wear upon my heart. 

'T is well to call up vanished hoars, 

If only for awhile — 
That thus on early boyhood cast 

Their fresh and fleeting smile ; 
And yet, thou hope-inspiring Book I 

The solace that forbids 
Lamenting our departed' joys, 

Is found within thy lids. 

o o 



0- 



POETRY OP THE HEART. 57 

Thou mindest me that time hath rolled 

"Waves, man}', since the day 
When in his cerements rohed, my sire 

Was boiTie the churchyard way : 
Thou mindest me, the hour of prime, 

So bright and brief, is gone ; 
And these are shadows of the eve 

That now are stealing on. 

Yet unto me, O, blessed book ! 

Thou hast a living charm ; 
The promise is revealed, that still 

Doth mortal ills disarm. 
The kindly Gilead bearest thou, 

That heals the hurt within ; 
The fountain, ever fall, hast thou. 

So potent for my sin. 

Even seeking, here, the quiet thoughts 

Of him who sought to find, 
Like angel-whispers, gently breathe 

Composure to my mind ; 
Then hold I converse with the dead. 

And taste of hidden bliss ; 
The spirit of a better world 

Allures my flight from this. 

I trace his pilgrimage of pain. 

The same my feet have kno-mi ; 
Compare witli his the secret sigh, 

And count with his the groan ; 



1 



Q Q 

58 POETRY OP THE HEAET. 



And pray that like his upward path, 

May mine be gladly trod ; 
To drop the last besetting sin, 

And rest with him in God. 

Thus, holy Book ! to me thy page 

Is redolent of peace, 
Which, not of earth, while that decays, 

Will brighten and increase. 
Beyond the treasures of the sea, 

Or ingots of the mine, 
And fairer than the world's delights, 

The excellence that's thine. 



BOOKS FOE CHINA. 

Ilately saw, cased up, of those same books, 

A library ; —valued are they, and sought 
Of all our Sabbath-schools. I love their looks ; 

So queried for what children they were bought, 
Or whither they might go ? The lad replied 

' To China. ' At his words I wondered then. 
To China ! — 't is but lately we should chide 

The fancy that durst stretch so bold a ken. 
Yet knowledge must increase, and God has mado 

A highway into Sinim. To her need 
Shall Sunday-schools be given ; —in the shade 

Of her great wall, her sons will sit, and read 
The winning page, whose precepts lead above ; 
And they will love the truths our children love. 

I- o 



_ 

POETET OF THE HEART. 69 



YOUTH'S TEMPEKANCE HYMN. 

True excellence, weary heart, 
By high resolve wouldst thou attain ? 

With "Virtue cast thy lot and part. 
And instantly the treasure gain. 

For, lofty once, in Error's chase 
A devious way thou 'st sorely trod ; 

Returning, take thy proper place ; 
The noblest of the works of God ! 

'T is done ; — how many storms of wrath, 
"Whose lightnings scarred that manly brow, 

Have gone forever from his path ! 
"What sunshme settles on liim now ! 

And thus, beyond the angel throng, 

"Who only heralded ' Good will,' 
Comes saving Temperance, with her song ; 

To-day we hear its music still. 

And in the future who may read 
How far her darmg flight shall go ? 

Or what shall in her track succeed 
To free our world from moral woe ? 

0, much of Earth may Heaven expect, 
"When for ' the Right ' are pledged the Youth ; 

Balm for the hopes so sadly wrecked, 
And victory for eternal Truth. 



o o 

CO POETKT OF THE HEAET. 



SUPPLICATION IN PROSPECT OF THE 
CHOLERA. 1S32. 

God ! thine oriental scourge — 

His errand bid to run — 
Has measured realms and seas, to hail 

The occidental sun. 

Above his chariot is seen 

The victor's flag unfurled ; 
And Ruin readj' at his -wheel 

To sweep the western world. 

And on our troubled border, nov?- 

The mighty Terror stands ; 
And scares us with his dreadful spoils 

"Won from a thousand lands. 

A moment stands — his steady inarch 

Is onward, rousing fears ; 
Before him is a paradise, 

Behind liim only tears. 

Our land, is it not valor's land, 

The beautiful and free ? 
Yet, if the best of all the earth, 

We owe it. Lord, to thee. 

6 6 



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POETEY OF THE HEAKT. 61 



And vainly round it do we plant 

The sanitarj' line ; 
And crowd its walls with watch and guard ; 

To keep, is only thine. 

rashly have we deemed our spear 
Our stay, nor sought the throne ; 

We 've plucked the honor from thy brow, 
To bind it on our own. 

Now, wisely taught our helplessness, 

Thy justice and thy power, 
Bid thou this time of waiting be 

Mercy's propitious hour. 

Then come t not by thy messenger— 

Thj'self thy children meet ; 
And see a people humbled low, 

A nation at thy feet. 



SWEET 0KB OF NIGHT ! I SAW THEE RISE. 

Sweet orb of night ! I saw thee rise, 
In cloudless lustre, o'er the plain ; 

I saw thee climb the azure skies. 
With radiant splendors in thy train : 



-o 



1(2 POETRY OP THE HEART. 



o 



I marked thy mildly pensive beam 
At midnight's still and hallowed hour ; 

I watched the fitful, lonely gleam, 
That played on yonder ivied tower. 

Sweet orb of night ! I often love. 

When day, with all its cares, is o'er, 
To wander in the silent grove, 

And there the Source of Light adore : 
O, then, how false all else appears, 

"VVliile, rapt in awe, thy course I view. 
And see thee mount the starry spheres, 

And tread the fields of heavenly blue ! 



THE CHimCH AT SEA. 

Few mercy-drops to-day are ours, 

In tears acknowledge we ; 
Ko cloud comes up surcharged with showers; 

The Church has gone to sea. 
Her blessed presence not alone 

Engrossing land may keep ; 
With morning's wing the Dove has flown — 

Behold her on the deep I * 



* The fact has been ascertained that the Spirit of God, during the past 
year, (1845,) has teen more abundantly poured out on the sons of tho 
ooeon, than on the dwellers upon the land. 

6 O 



c 

POETRY OF THE HEART. 63 

Religion, that had sown our soil 

"VTith pearls of heavenly light, 
Turns from her unrequited toil, 

And leaves us to the night. 
Met coldly here, the glorious form 

To weary Ocean flies — 
And points, beyond its frequent storm 

To quiet in the skies. 

The airs that sing among tbe shrouds 

Are her inviting boll ; 
The voices of the warring clouds 

Her diapason swell. 
"No wealthy Virtues crowd her gates, 

Nor Pomp, confessing sins ; 
But mercy for the Sailor waits. 

And love the Sailor wins. 

' T is well she there uplifts her dome, 

And her foundation dips 
In floods — her Lord, who had no home, 

Taught often from the ships ; 
To show us that His gospel, free 

As winds and waves, should go 
To all of poor and rich degree, 

The mighty and the low. 

And that salvation's blessed Star 

Its mellow light may fling. 
As well on him astride the spar, 

As on the sworded king ; 

o 



o — o 

64 POETET OF THE HEART. 

And tribute from the watery world 

The Son of God must draw — 
Its ships displaj' his cross unfurled, 

Its isles receive his law. 



THE LAST DEUNKAED. 

He stood, the last — the last of all 

The ghastly, guilty band, 
"Whose clanking chains and cry of thrall 

Once rang throughout the land. 

Alone he stood — the outcast wretch, 

Left only with his pain ; 
Of each boon friend, could memory fetcb 

To thought, not one again. 

He stood— but where was now the host, 

The mighty, giant throng, 
That late in columns to the lost. 

Had moved, with jibe and song? 

The hoary, yet dishonored head. 
And manhood's dark locks, where ? 

And woman, too, by error led 
That broad way to despair ? 



POETRY OF THE HEART. 65 

Where were they all ' — the sweeping blast 

Had burnt their life-blood up ; 
Health, reason, honor died, as past 

The simoom of the cup ! 

And he alone — alone ! sad glance 

Threw hurriedly around ; 
And earth and sky held mocking dance, 

And upward came a sound — 

A sound of mortal agony ; 

Upon his ear it fell ; 
A bitter and undreamed of cry, 

With mingled laugh of hell. 

As if were centred in that yell 

All of the misery 
That broken hearts can only tell, 

That God can only see. 

It calls him ! and, probation past. 

He shouts, ' Ye Fiends, I come I 
Open, foul pit, and take the last, 

The last doomed slave of Eum l* 



■o 



o 

66 rOETKT OF THE HEART. 



HOLIKESS TO THE LORD. 

In that day there shall be upon the bella of the horses, HoUneis snio 
tULoid ifecft. 14:20. 

"Write on your garnered treasures, 
"Write on your choicest pleasures, 
Upon things new and old, 
The precious stone and gold ; 
On outward riches write. 
On bosomed riches write, 
"Wife, husband, children, friends, 
On all that Goodness lends ; 
On altars where you kneel, 
"Where Mercy doth reveal 
Herself ; —on your good name, 
"Upon your cherished fame : 
On every pleasant thing ; 
On stores that heaven doth fling 
Into your basket — write ! 
"Upon the smiles of God, 
"Upon his scourging rod ; 
"Write on your inmost heart ; 
"Write upon every part 
Of your mysterious frame, 
To Him from whom it came 
To Him who claims the whole, 
Time, talent, body, soul ; 



POETRY OF THE HEART. 67 

To whom small birds belong, 

And worlds that wheel in song ; 

Ocean and little rills, 

The everlasting hills ; 

Whose shadowing wings, as well 

Fold heaven, as the broad hell ; 

Whose coming stirs the dead ; — 

Write ! for it shall be read 

When finally expire 

Suns on their funeral pyre ; 

Write ! —In eternity 

The S3ilables shall be ; 

Upon His footstool write I 

Upon His throne, go, write 

Holiness to the Lord ! 



THE THREE ASPECTS, 

Some there are, who deem that Jesus- 

Finisher of Mercy's plan — 
Was not, in his holy nature, 

Either more or less than man. 

These acknowledge as their motive 
Still to seek the Good and True, 

That what finite has accomplished, 
Finite yet may surely do. 



O : Q 

68 POETRY OF THE HEART. 

Some, who feel how insufficient 

31 an to save a world like ours, 
Throne in trlory the Messiah 

Just above angelic powers: 

Heofling not, that they who yield hira 

Otlicr seat than he should fill, 
Though than first, a little lower, 

Are but impious robbers still. 

Others, —such my heart confesses,— 

Who in liilde ways have trod. 
View hiui, as did seers, apostles. 

Very Man and very God. 

He, to them, a perfect Saviour 

Only can 1)0, only is; 
And to tlicni tlie blessed Spirit 

Witnesses that they are his. 



Ch 



POETRY OF THE HEART. G9 



r. 



THE SinrWEECKED. 

WRITTEN FOR THE BOSTON LAPIES' RELIEF SOCIETY, 
FOR THE BENEFIT OF SHIPWRECKED SAILORS. 

We think not as we should, of those 
Who tempt the dangerous deep ; 

O'er whom its whehiiing waters close, — 
For whom but few may weep. 

Secure in ample dwellings, we, 

At ease, and full, and warm — 
Forget our brother, who, at sea. 

Is warring with the storm. 

The blast, that wails about our bed. 

And lulls us with its breath, 
Is beating on his naked head. 

And chilling him in death. 

The gust, that shook us as we lay, 

Without a dream of care, 
Has swept his little all away, 

And left him to despair. 

Despair ? — 0, never ! while the heart 

Of sympathy can grieve ; 
Or angel Woman may impart 

Her substance to relieve. 



c- 



70 POETKT OF THE HEART. 

Despair ? — 0, never ! Tvliile we here 
Behold such blessed sight, — 

The gifts, his weary woe to cheer, 
The smiles, to chase his niglit. 



NEW YEAR'S COLLOQUY. 

I asked the New Year as it came, 
Why here dost will to be ? 
And it said — 'mid sliouts that named its name — 
To minister to thee. 

Why comfest thou with weal and woe. 
Alternate hope and fear ? — 

To give to weary man, below, 

The smile and frequent tear. 

Thou wilt restore the absent friend 
To my desiring heart ? — 

Yet I all pleasant ties will rend, 

And the joined forever part. 

Why wilt thou deck the bridal bed 
Of youth and beauty's bloom ? — 

That I the thoughtless pair may wed 

Unto the dreary tomb. 

o lb 



9 

POETET OF THE HEART. 71 

Wliy wilt thou please the mother's eyes 
"With her infant's thousand charms ? — 

To bear unto the faithful skies 

The treasure of her arms. 

Into the lap why wilt thou fling 
Hoards of uncounted gold ? — 

To give the wretch, ere long, the sting 

Of hopes to poverty sold. 

Why to Ambition's silly few 

"Wilt thou sing the song of fame ? — 

To show, of the bubbles men pursue, 

The emptiest is a name. 

Why comfest thou with hymns of cheer? — 
I come, too, with my woes ; 
Voices that welcome the New Year, 
Shall be silent at its close. 

And why embark upon thy tide 
Earth's millions, without dread ? — 

That in their laughter they may glide, 

Unconscious, to the dead. 

Why wilt thou haste to mingle in 
Eternity's wide sea ? — 

That I one day may show his sin. 

Who asketh now of me. 



Q 

72 POETRT OF THE HEART. 



JESUS CHRIST: THE SAME YESTERDAY, 
TO-DAY, AND FOREVER. 

OCCASIONED BY THE RESIGNATION OF THE SUPER- 
INTENDENT OF A SUNDAY SCHOOL. 

Gathered in this pleasant place, 
Here has answered ' face to face ; ' 
Here has mingled common prayer, 
Here have praises filled the air. 

Here like seed was Wisdom flung 
From the willing heart and tongue ; 
All beneath a gentle rule. 
In our happy Sunday School. 

Still we gather as we 've done — 
Every kindling purpose one — 
Who by love shall honor most 
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost ! 

Still petition Ave prefer ; 
Worships still the worshipper; 
But anotlier takes the rule 
In this happy Sunday School. 

In our asking, as we may. 
For the harvest will we pray ; 
And, in our imperfect song, 
Praises for the sheaves prolong. 



--o 



o 

POETRY OF THE HEART. 73 

Thus, while changes sadly show 
All is mutable below, 
Changeless Jesus ! keep the rule 
In our happj' Sunday School. 



THE TRACT LEFT AT MY HOUSE. 

A modest female, latel.y, at my door, 

Solicited that I would take her boon. 

It was a Tract. I took, and thanked, and soon 
Began to read ; what was it moved me so ? 
For Sin no Tkifle I had read before, 
"When o'er its page would tears unbidden flow. 

And still I read, and still it seemed to me 
Authority's own herald, and I felt 
Awed at its presence. Nor could I but think 

To entertain the guest thus proffered free. 
I read with tears for sin ; yet, joyful, knelt, 

And blessed m}' God that Truth wells every where 
"Waters of life ; and freely may men drink. . 

For this did I His gi-acious praise declare. 



o 



o 

74 POETRY OF THE HEART. 



SYMBOLS. 
< iLnd do sign him vrith the sisn of the Cioss.' — Common Prayer. 

Infirmity like mine requires 

The aid of li allowed Art ; 
By Genius lit, Religion's fires 

Shall penetrate the heart. 

It therefore stirs my love for Him, 

When chiselled Romans toss 
Their frantic arms, and nail the limb 

Of Jesus to the Cross. 

My faith at Raffael's pencil stops 

"Where Meekness suffers now ; 
I weep, when paint baptismal drops 

The Cross upon the brow. 

I sorrow o'er the humble stone, 

"Whose moonlit Cross the eye 
Discerns, as type of Life, alone. 

In whom believers die. 

I feel, as shadows, thoughts malign 

Depart when morning's fires 
Blaze on the Christian's simple sign 

That tips the temple-spires. 

o 6 



o 

POETRT OF THE HEART. '4 



He shall not then be blamed, whom priest 

Thus funiislies to send — 
A red-cross knight, and not the least, 

If faithful to the end — 

To battle for the Crucified ; 

To count his laurels loss ; 
To bring his passion and his pride 

And glory to the Cross. 

Thou, of whom all things may teach, 

Most humbly I implore 
The unction, types and pictures preach, 

My heart may know the more ! 



THE JEW. 

' I can't deBpise a Jew. I can't add the weight of my fingei to tha 
burden that God has laid on him.' — Judah'a Lion. 

0, say not that the Jew is dead 

To feelings which belong to man ; 
Or that sweet mercy 's wholly fled, 

For him who lies beneath the ban. 

Though 'mid the busy haunts of life. 
He steals, unnoticed and unkno^vn, 

Or, meets, as best he may, the strife 
That sinks the spirit when alone ; 

o o 



9 ? 

76 POETKT OF THE HEART. 



Though on his forehead bums the sign 
Of righteous wrath that wastes within, — 

Sent down the Israelitish line 
For his forefathers' crowning sin ; — 

Though base ones — deeming they perform 

A higher will — with jeering lip 
Assail, in persecuting storm. 

The wretch they have ' upon the hip ; ' 

Yet he is honored in the thought 
That loves to dwell on former days, 

And linger o'er their wonders wrought. 
And ponder Heaven's mjstcrious ways. 

And he is reverenced by the heart 

That trusts the Oracle Divine, 
Which gives the banished Hebrew part 

Again in blessed Talestine. 

And thither will he journey back — 
The troops of Zion making way — 

And cloud and pillar point tlie track. 
And ark and altar with him stay. 

And he shall be enthroned by gi-ace 

Above the vile who on him trod, 
And sit with princes, for his race 

Arc nobles from the hand of God. 

6 



POETET OF THE HEART. 77 



THE TWO PILLAKS. 

• If I irere to speak of preparation for the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, 
I shouM mention tlie Sunday Sc'liool an J the Temperance cause ; tliose two 
Doric pillars of society, stanJinj is tlicy do on the fimi foundations of the 
Gospel, and tonering as they do among us, admired and guarded by tha 
leading minds of the Christian community.' 

"UHiat mean tliesc to-\vcring pillars, that 

So beautifully stand, 
And look In simple niajesty 

Sublimely o'ci* the land ? 

Round one is twlneii the heavcnl3^ vreath 

Of everlasting green. 
Where smiles, and joys, and budding years 

Luxuriantly arc seen. 

'Tls based on love, and gracefully 

The colunni soars on liigh ; 
Bright hopes are clustering round the shaft, 

Whoso summit seeks the sky. 

The other, like a giant, springs 

From Kesolutlun's rock; 
Temptation's storms may round It rave, 

It meets, unharmed, the shock. 

6 ■ 6 



o — 

3 POETRT OF THE HEART. 

Ilovr comel.v are the chaplets, "nhich 

Festoon this noble pile ! — 
The grief that 's healed, the tear that 's dried 

The Avife and children's smile ! 

And, guarded b}' the ^vatchflll bands 

Of Gratitude, behold! 
Around them gatlier aged men, 

And sweet ones of the fold. 

Twin pillars of a nation's pride I 

Unshaken shall ye stand, 
When pyramids reel down to dust, 

And heaves lilie ocean, land. 

For as tlie everlasting hills 

Must Truth and Temperance be ; — 

0, God, grant us sucli resting-place, 
"When pass the earth and sea ! 



THE DErAKTED. 

I see thee not, mj- brother ! thou art far 
From me, removed to thy empyrlon — 
Thou dAvellcst in the chambers of the star, 
A worshipper, immortal. Yet in sleep 
I saw thee. 'T was a vision of the niglit, 



o- 



o 



-o 



POETKT OF THE HEART. 



When fancy, roused, no more would vigils keep, 
When all Avithin Avas I10I3', calm, and bright. 
I saw thee as thou Avast. TJiough manj- a floAver 
Of summer birth has flourished on th}' bed — 
Though many a cold and Avintrj' blast has SAA^ept 
The spot Avhere thou hast pilloAv^d thy head — 
The spot AAiicre I, in boyhood's laughing hour. 
Forgot mj' mirth, and o'er thy mcmor.y Avept — 
My brother ! I saAV thee, and thou didst seem 
Like nought of earth — a shadOAvj-, pleasing dream, 
A A'oicclcss vision, beckoning me aAvay 
To skyey fields, Avhcre Loa'c's pure fountain Aoaa'S 
'Mid landscapes, sunned by an unclouded day. 
Where pilgrims dAA-ell — the Aveary find repose. 
Mcthought 'tAvas bj' a river's brink avc Avalkcd. 
IIoAV touching Avas night's silence ! Echo talked 
Along the breezes ; on the gentle air 
Came dying murmurs ; — music, too, AA-as there, 
Music unheard, j-et felt ; the harmony 
That soothes the spirit in the parting hour. 
That hails the disembodied to their boAver. 
'T A\'as invitation all ; — I sti'ovc to folloAV thee — 
My brother ! — sought again thy speaking eye, — 
But thou Avast gone ! there Avas nought left A\"ith me ; 
The stars shone coldly in the clear bine sky ; 
The lonely night-Avind, murmuring, past by. 



-O 



o 

80 rOETKY OF THE HEAP.T. 



THE MATERXAL TRAYER MEETING. 

They 've met, thou sec'st, and this is where 

Thcj' alwa3-s love to meet ; 
The chosen room, well kjiown to pi-ayer, 

The Mother's mercy-scat ; 
They 've met — in beauteous eyes the tear 

Of stirring thought is dim. 
For each, this hour, her sweet ones here, 

Leads up in prayer to Hisi. 

Is 't not a holy place ? —look round ! — 

For to these bosoms given, 
Are hopes, not by the wide world bound, 

They look away to heaven. 
And think not heaven, as side by side, 

Are child and mother bowed, 
BetAveen itself and this deep tide 

Of prayer, hath flung a cloud. 

O, no ! if ever broken speech 

May audience find above, 
'T is when the mother's heart would reach 

Down blessings for its love ; 
And though, in tears, each suppliant long 

May tarry near the throne. 
She knows that here the faith is strong 

That is so faint alone. 



— o 

POETRr OF THE HEART. 81 

And firm the faltering step, for then 

The altar-place is trod ; 
And rises timid woman, when 

She gives her child to God ; 
Yet not for self is given the sigh, 

Kor earnest tear is shed, 
But that rich mercies from on high 

May fall upon liis head. 

0, woman ! to whose fonning touch 

Is given the plastic mind. 
Thou nced'st the frequent prayer, for much 

Hath heaven to thee consigned ; 
Still in thy weakness there is power 

Before thy King to stand ; 
With him there is a hearing hour, 

A sceptre in his hand. 

'T is wise, while fountains fail below, 

To lead those thou dost love 
To living streams, that brightly flow 

In fairer worlds above ; 
To furnish, e'er 'tis thine to fall, 

These dear ones for the strife ; 
And then, to see them peril all 

For crowns of endless life ! 



Q 

82 POETRY OF THE HE^UIT. 



WHEN DEATH SHALL LAY THIS BOSOM LOW. 

When death shall lay this bosom low, 
And every murmur hush to sleep, 

When those that give aflfection now, 
Shall o'er affection's memory weep ; 

I would not, Avhen the spirit's flown, 
That strangers should receive the sigh ; 

I would not that a hand unknown, 
Should, coldly, close the slumbering eye ; 

But, on some throbbing heart reclined, 
That beats alone for love and me — 

Each parting pang subdued, how kind. 
How peaceful would my exit be ! 

I would not that this aching head 
Should rest, at last, on foreign clay ; 

I would not that my grassy bed 
Should be from home and love away : 

But, in my native village ground. 
Near kindred dust, these relics laid ; 

How calm my slumbers, how profound. 
Beneath the old tree's sombre shade ! 



-6 



o 

POETET OF THE HEART. 83 



THE SAILOK. 

His fetters has folly made terribly fast, 
And round him its coils are continually cast ; 
Far, far from the blessings that sweeten life's cup, 
He drinks, ' -without mixture,' its bitterness up ;— 
In the madness of mirth there's an oath on his lips, 
In the hour of remembrance remorse amid-ships ;— 
Yet, rescued from dangers that swarmed round 

him, he 
Finds the ' land shark,' by far, -worse than shark 

of the sea. 

And thus since Adventure first tried the blue -wave. 
Has the Ship proved of mind and of morals the 

grave: 
What eyes have looked out from their -watch to the 

stars — 
What forms climbed the ratlin, or bent to the 

spars — 
What nerve in the tempest to battle its -v\Tath — 
What skill, in all -waters to plough up a path ! — 
Those thousands have perished — that resolute soul. 
In the race of the ages, has died at the goal. 

Taught by him, her Great Head, -who, in bodily 

form. 
Once -walked on the billows, and rolled back the 

storm, 





Q 

84 rOETKT OF THE HKART. 

Tlie Church, in her faith, goes abroad on the deep, 
And speaks, by her bounty, its tempests to sleep, 
lie has ' Peace ' who was once by their turbulence 

tost, 
He 'is found' who on shoals of the tempter was 

lost, — 
And now, with the Tilot that never wrecked Tar, 
Sails the Mariner, guided by Bethlehem's Star ! 



I saw the outcast — an abandoned boy. 

Whom wretchedness, debased, might call its own. 

His look was wan ; and his sad, sunken eye, 

Mute pleader — told a bosom-harrowing tale. 

For he was one, unknown to fostering care. 

That should have shielded and protected him 

In childhood's dangerous hour. No father's prayer, 

In midnight's orison, had risen ever 

Before the viewless throne, to fall again 

In blessings on the lad. No mother's tear 

Had dropt in secret for the wanderer. He, 

Dejected, stood before me, and methought 

Itesembled much a flower, a ruined flower, 

But lovely once, and might have flourished well, 

Had not adversity's dread simoom passed. 

And blighted all its sweets. The buds of hope 

Bloomed on, but not for him. The morning sun 

Shone gladly out — but all to him was dark. 



-o 



o 

POETKT OF THE HEART. 85 



His soul was in eclipse — the energies 

Of mind lay dormant, withering in their prime. 

I looked, but he had passed me : he stole on 

Despondingl}'; irresolute his pace. 

As on forbidden gi-ound. The world seemed not 

For him — haply its frigid boon were much 

To j'ield the sufferer misery's sheltering grave. 

I saw the outcast — but to Fancy's view 
Methought a vision, fair and briglit, appeared. — 
So changed, I doubted — but intelligence 
Darting in lustre from his mild, full eye, 
Assured my throbbing heart 'twas he indeed. 
Gone was the sallow hue, the sombre cast 
Of sorrow gone ; and, in its stead, the glow 
Of cheerfulness shone out. His parting lip 
Disclosed the smile content delights to wear. 
When peace within sits revelling. His step erect. 
Told of a heart at peace. —Wondering, I asked 
The cause. He pointed meekly to a dome, 
Whose hallowed portals tell the passenger 
That the Eternal deigns to call it His — 
KnoAvn of all nations as the house of pra.ver : 
'Here,' said the youth — while glistening drops 

bedewed 
His beauteous cheek — ' here Tity led my way ; 
And he that knew no father, soon found One 
Able and sure to save. And he, whose tears 
No mother's hand had kindly wiped away. 



o o 



o o 

86 POETRY OF THE HEART. 



I 



Found One that said, 'Come, thou forsaken ! come 
Unto my bosom — rest, poor wanderer, here.' 
lie ceased. My full heart, as I went my way, 
Called down God's benison on the Sunday School. 



THE TRUE WASHINGTONIA25^'S SO:^G. 

I, who on dunghlU-muck have lain, 

And slept in dirty jail. 
With liver grog-inflamed, and face 

Cadaverous and pale — 
"Whose bloated legs could scarce support 

A lean and famished bell}'. 
Whose filthy mouth spewed out the slime 

Congealed within, like jelly ; 

Who,shirtloss, bedless, supperless, 

Kept vigils in the street ; 
A burning heart, tlie antipodes 

To frozen head and feet — 
Whose horrid curse hath met my wife's 

Anxiety and fears, 
Whose blow hath levelled at m}' feet 

My boy, in blood and tears, — 



■o 



' o 

FOETRT OF THE HEART. 87 

■Whom, ■with unutterable scorn, 

Past priest and peasant by — 
Avoiding as the}' might, the stench 

That floated from my sty, — 
"Whom all agreed to kick aside 

As carrion for the grave, 
A putrid Avretch, Teetotalism 

Could never, never save — 

Am now, thank God ! another man ; — 

A man, who devil seemed ; 
Am now — once prisoner of 3'ears — 

Eternally redeemed ; 
Am now with sober reason blest, 

Who howled among the graves ; 
Am free, who like a reptile crawled, 

Abhorred by common slaves. 

All 's Avell at home ! — my wife can bear 

Misfortune's cruel edge,— 
She sunk beneath ray sharper word — 

Thank God ! I' ve signed the pledge. 
All 's Avell at home ! — my darling boy 

Climbs up my welcome knee ; 
He looks up in an honest face. 

Thank God ! his sire to see. 

I 've signed the pledge ! ' and that is why 

My brow is clear of shame. 
And light my heart and full my purse — 

Go, brother ! do the same. 



88 POETRY OF THE HEART. 

I 've signed the Pledge — and what of that? 

What virtue's in a line ? — 
To check indomitable will 

What can this flst of mine ? 

For better men, in thoughtful frame, 

Have signed as well as I, 
Who, perjured, fell before the cup, 

Self-doomed to fall and die ; 
I 've seen them ! j^es, have seen the cloud 

That left awhile their door 
After the rain return, and storms 

Of tenfold fury pour. 

And what shall save me from their doom ? 

The Pledge ! — 't is only ink ; 
If this is all my saving ark 

Beneath the waves I sink. 
' I WILL,' when Virtue prompts, is strong ; 

But often Folly rules ; 
Who trusts the wise, by Wisdom's led ; 

Who trust themselves, are fools. 

Xo ! there 's a better help than this, 

The penitent avails, — 
The grace that lifts from the abyss 

To keep him never fails. 
With Washington's immortal name 

The Christian's I '11 unite ; 
Then march, assail, and crush the foe, 

Lord Jesus ! in thy might. 



POETKT OF THE HEART. 89 



BURNING OF THE ORPHAN ASYLUM, 

AT PHILADELPHIA. 

'Twas midnight, and the northern blast rode liigli; 
Nature lay torpid 'neath the iron power 
Of chill midwinter. From the clear cold sky, 
The stars shed quickened lustre ; 't was the hour 
Of brooding silence, heaviness, and death. 

Hushed was the Orphan's prayer. 

And hushed the holy hymn. 

Say, is it real ! — or but the unquiet breath 
Of fancy, whispering to the startled ear? 
O, God of mercy ! is there none to save ? 
No powerful arm of blest protection here ; 
No kindly refuge from the burning grave ? 

'T was morning — and the smouldering, blackened 

pile. 
The throb of agony, the burst of woe. 
The ej'e of eloquence, the Orphan's tale, 
Spoke the proud triumph of the midnight foe. 
I wept, and long I wept ; yet not for those 
Dear innocents — who fed the funeral pj're ; 
For them, escaped from earth and earth-bom woes, 
Their spirits wafted on one car of fire — 



-o 



o 

90 POETRr OF THE HEART. 



Why should I weep ? No, 't was the shivering child, 
The living wretch, that claimed the pitj'ing tear. 
"When, lo ! a form I saw of aspect mild, 
Fair Charitt, amid the throng appear ! 
Her magic voice bade every heart attend. 
Her influence sweet each feeling bosom knew, 
And soon the helpless Orphan found a friend. 
And eyes unknown to weep were moist with Pity's 
dew. 

Again was heard the Orphan's prayer, 

Again the holy hymn. 



I knew the boy, and he was such an one 

As we can dearly love, nor question why. 

Of fragile form, yet fair, methinks the sun 

Ne'er shone upon a lovelier ; his eye 

Sparkled with hope and innocence ; delight 

Dwelt in his motions, every thought was joy. 

Gentle in heart, attractive to the sight, 

Death ! how couldst thou such comeliness destroy ? 

I saw him flushed with health ; the opening rose 
Was not more sweet ; his cheek had stolen Its hue. 
On his fair brow sat childhood's calm repose ; 
His budding lip, surcharged with freshest dew, 

6— 



POETKT OF THE HEART. 91 



i 



Spake promise of long daj's ; we fondly said 
'These charms will flourish —many a genial spring 
Invigorating, will kind influence shed, 
Eipening the plant, and full perfection bring. 

I saw him in the agonizing hour, 

When pain was struggling with its victim ; there 

Was loveliness remaining, though the power 

Of foil disease had blighted what was fair. 

He knew me not ; already had he flown 

In thought to his empj-rean, and ere 

Some cherub called, ' awaj' ! ' he sought the throne : 

What should the traveller know of sorrow here ? 

I saw him, — but the last long strife was o'er ! 
'TAvas hard, for Death had lingered with the blow, 
Reluctant, seeming : — pale he was, but more 
Of beauty have I never seen ; the foe, 
Unwilling to deface so sweet a germ. 
Had left heaven's impress on the sleeping clay ;— 
There reigned, sublime, eternity's deep calm; 
Death sat, a smiling victor, on his prey. 



REV. JOHX SIDIMERFIELD. 

I saw the Evangelist of God ascend 
The holy place. He spake, and on mj' heart 
Fell accents glowing with the prophet's fire. 
I heard thee, mighty one ! and was afraid. 



-o 



O Q 

92 POETKT OF THE HEART. 



0, sweet as angel's music were the tones 

That breathed their gilead on the -vvounrled heart; 

Strengthened the weaiy, bade the broken come 

To Silea's fountain, and in faith be whole. 

I wept o'er blighted hopes ; but thou didst draw, 

A willing captive, mj' admiring soul 

With thee, to brighter regions, where the dream 

Of glad fruition lives, nor is unreal. 

I feared Death ; but thou didst Acck the foe 

In lovely garb ; with softest beauty' clad, 

I saw him becltoning to the narrow house 

Of rest, where spicy odors balm the air, 

And Resurrection's halo crowns the dead. 



HOME OF IklT YOUTH. 

Home of mj' youth ! with fond delight, 
On thee doth recollection dwell ; 
Home of my youth ! how gayly bright, 
The scenes that childhood loved so well I 

Cot of my fathers ! well I know 
The spot that saw my infant dawn ; 
Near the green lane, the old elm row — 
The village spire — the grassy lawn. 



o 



C ( 

I POETKY OF THE HEART. 93 



And sweet to me the laughing hours, 
When earth seemed gay, and heaven was fair; 
"When fanc}' culled her thornless flowers, 
And pleasure reigned, unknown to care. 

Home of my youth ! this heart away, 
Recalls those moments dear to me ; 
Often, in dreams, will memory stray. 
Home of my youth — to weep o'er thee. 



FUXEKAL HYim. 

On the ramparts of Zion, Avhere watch he was 
keeping. 

His eye on the rebels who Israel defied — 
Or, talcing the sickle, the harvest was reaping. 

In love with the souls for whom Jesus had died — 

The ^raster called for him ; his mantle 'twas merely 
To drop, and depart, for his labor was done ; 

Thus rests the disciple who followed sincerely. 
And thus, by the Christian, the coronet 's won. 

We heard him; and who, that remembers his 

pleading. 

That voice of deep earnestness e'er can forget? 

Or the prayer of his faith when the soul, interceding, 

I Shone out in the features by sympathy wet ? I 

o 6 



O ^Q) 

94 POETKY OF THE HEART. 



He has fled ! and like him could we pass the dark 
portal 

So early, so safely, that leads to the throne, 
At once would we turn from the bliss that is mortal, 

To feast on fruition that now is his own ! 



THE SANDWICH ISLANDS. 

The Sandwich Isles ! the Sandwich Isles ! 

How fair on ocean's breast they seem. 
Reflecting tlie immortal smiles 

That from the Source of glorj' beam I 

't was not thus the ages gone, 
When they in error's night lay dim, 

God's jewels, that in silence shone 
Most beautiful, j'ct not for him. 

The Sandwich Isles ! — as in a glass. 
Their dark-ej-ed sons rise up to me, 

No longer pagan ; — while they pass 
From 0-a-hu and 0-why-hee, 

1 mark their faces shorn of shame. 
Like glorious men wlio spurn the dust, — 

The last to know of Freedom's name, 
Yet in her lofty triumphs first. 

C o 



o 

POETEY OP THE HEART. &5 

The Sandwich Isles ! their coral coasts, 
Their fairy dales, and hills, and plains, 

Hare echoed to the Lord of Hosts 
Eedemption's never-tiring strains. 

how unlike the savage song 
That o'er them once to idols rung, 

■When madness seized the tossing throng, 
And blasphemy defiled the tongue I 

The Sandwich Isles ! where from the breast 

The mother plucked her clinging child, 
And hushed its little woes to rest 

In blood — O, God how sweetly wild 
The mother's hymn ascends to Thee ! 

And who, that mother's joy may tell. 
As with her child she bends the knee 

At summons of the Sabbath bell? 

The Sandwich Isles ! —each laden breeze 
Brings token of rich fragrance there ; 

1 scent, aci-oss the surging seas. 
Aroma of the convert's prayer. 

give me wings ! my soul would flee 

To regions where the Spirit smiles ; 
'T is midnight here — 't is morn with ye, 

The Sandwich Isles ! the Sandwich Isles I 



) Q) 

S6 rOETRT OF THE HEART. 



VERSES, 

On heaimg that the beautiful Mrs. had given her ornaments 

isi the promotion of the Temperance oau^e. 

Chains for the neck of Beauty, 

Gems, richly wrought and rare, 
Kings, of the costly chased work, 

That 't was thy pride to wear — 
Thou pluckest from thy linger. 

Thou pluckest from thy brow ; 
To do it, thou 'It not linger, — 

The ruin rages now. 

Tliou 'st seen Destruction wasting 

The home where peace had dwelt, — 
Thou 'st seen the unwritten sorrows, 

The broken heart has felt : 
That grief needs not the telling; 

The poet need not deck 
"Woes of the drunkard's dwelling — 

His fireside's hopeless wreck. 

A. pencil dipt in hell, 

"With characters of flame, 
Alone, may truly tell 

His past and present shame. 



■o 



<?- 



POETRY OF THE HEART. 97 



i 



Loss of tills life's true pleasures- 
Bliss bartered for the bowl — 

Loss of the next life's treasures- 
Loss of the cheated soul. 

Gold to the crucible ! 

Kich gems let others wear! 
Thine are the ornaments 

Compassion deems so fair. 
"With tliese, let -vviiiKS be given 

To Truth's unerring light; 
Mid arabesques of heaven, 

What jewel is so bright I 



WOKSHirPING 

CJ A NEW CHTRCn, CONSECRATED TO RELIGION 
AND FREEDOM. 

Tliou, for our humble need, hast gifts 

Of skill to mortals given, 
These gladly used, our temple lifts 

Its virgin spire to heaven. 

"We praise Thy name ! — these modest "walls, 

To all complexions free — 
Thus furnished at our earnest calls, 

We render back to Thee. 
7 



o -o: 

98 POETRY OF THE HEART. 

To Thee I who tumeJ from songs and thrones, 

To see the Hebrew slave ; 
To WTite in blood his tears and groans ; 

To pity and to save. 

To Thee ! whose Trcsence once came down, 

"When prayed the Jewish king — 
And sat in glory, like a crown, 

On every holy thing. 

To Thee ! yet gracious. 0, round us 

Be clouds of mercy curled, 
Thou Lamb of God ! once made a curse, — 

Now, blessing for the world. 



A VOICE FEOM AFRICA. 

A voice from Afric ! Afric wakes 

From out her centuries of sleep ; 
The silent emph'e silence breaks ; — 

Mind may not always slumber keep. 

She to the truth-illumined "West 

Is looking with intense desire ; 
And hope, in many a wildered breast. 

Is waxing bright and soaring higher. 

6 



Q __^ 

POETET OF THE HEAKT. 99 

Her multitudes of sentient slaves, 
Weary and faint, and long unfed — 

Are heaving, as her own wild waves. 
And clamoring for the Saviour's bread. 

Ifow, Chi'istian, is the pregnant hour 
Thou 'st panted for, of high renown ; 

To crumble Superstition's power. 
And add a star to Jesus' crown. 

And say, shall Afric vainly sue, 
"While heavenly treasure fills thy lap ? 

Shall erring realms that seek the true, 
Be blotted from Keligion's map ? 



AFEICA-THE KEPLY. 

The cry beyond Atlantic smites 
My ear, —it smites my rocky heart ; 

In Man, despoiled of human rights, 
My human nature owns a part. 

I sigh o'er millions, clasping links 
That only limbs in bondage bind ; 

But Aveeps my spirit, when she thinks 
Of steel that enters mighty Mind. 



o 



Q) 

100 POETRT OF THE HEABT. 



Yet siglis and tears •will never break 

One rivet of the dreadful cliain ; 
My liead ! my heart ! mj' purse ! awake I 

"Wake, active soul ! and fertile braiu I 

"Wake up to vows that on this tongue 

Trembled in my espousal day, 
"When backward I my follies flung, 

And forward took a wiser way. 

Those vows are voices unto me ! 

I may no longer coldness cloak — 
' Undo the burdens ! set him free 

Who faints beneath the idol's yoke !' 

And I '11 obey — and Afric's bands 

Shall sing of victory over sin, 
Through Blood that cleanses tribes and landa 

Of deepest night and darkest skin. 



EETROSPECTIOX. 

'Tis sweet, in seclusion, to look on the past, 
In life's sober twilight recall the day dream ; 
To mark the smooth sunshine and skies overcast. 
That checkered our course as we moved down the 



Q 

POETRY OF THE HEART. 101 



For there yet is a charm in retracing the mom 
When the star of our pleasure beamed brightly 

awhile ; 
And the tear that in infancy Tvatered the thorn, 
By the magic of memory is changed to a smile 

How faint is the touch, no perspective bestowing, 
Nor scenery in nature's true colors arrayed ! 
How chaste is the landscape ! how vividly glowing, 
■'.Yhere the warm tint of fancy is mellowed by shade ! 

With cheerfulness, then. Retrospection ! I 'U greet 

thee. 
Though bitterness dashes thy chalice of sweets ; 
In the eve of reflection this bosom will meet thee. 
While to the dear vision of childhood it beats. 

And the heart that in confidence seeks its review, 
And finds the calm impress of innocence there, 
With rapture anticipates happiness new. 
In hope yet to come, it possesses a share. 

If, in climes of the blessM, affections unite. 
And those, on earth parted, are blended in love— 
If thoughts of the past quicken present delight. 
Retrospection adds bliss to the sainted above. 



■o 



o 

102 POETKT OF THE HEAKT. 



TO THE DOVE. 

Sweet bird of nature's snowy vest, 
Thou art in fair luxuriance drest ; 
The fondest of the plumaged throng, 
The lonclydove of plaintive song. 

The condor vast, the wren minute, 
The pheasant gay, the falcon brnte. 
Though bold or pleasing to the eye, 
Can ne'er with thee, my favorite, vie. 

Thou claira'st my sympathy and love ; 
For still, in some sequestered grove. 
Thou dost indulge thy artless moan, 
And lovest to sing and sigh alone. 

Thy tender strain of hapless woe, 
Oft bids the tear of sorrow flow ; 
Thy note exceeds the touch of art; 
Thy melody attracts the heart. 

Yet blithe and cheerful is thy mien, 
And halcyon mirth with thee is seen ; 
Thou roam'st at large, disporting free, 
Fidelity a trait of thee. 



-o 



O — Q 

POETRT OF THE HEAKT. 103 



BEAUTY IN THE GKAVE, 

ON SBKING AN ANCIENT PICTURE OF A BEAUTIFUL 
LADY. 

How loudly rang her ready praise 

In her ancestral hall, 
How beauteous at the levee, once, 

How graceful at the ball, 
It matters not ! — that fair one now, 

The idol of the brave. 
The pageant of a former hour, 

Is Beauty in the Grave. 

How much admired for sparkling wit. 

And prized for virtues true, 
How b3' the multitude esteemed, 

Beloved by the few. 
It matters not ! — alike the same 

To him, as is the slave 
The sordid worm liolds banqueting 

On Beauty in tlie Grave. 

The wcU-proportioned shape, the grace 

01 woman's queenly tread. 
The speaking eye, the budding lip. 

Of nature's dewy red, 
The thousand witcheries that stUl 

Our warmest homage crave. 
What are thej' in Death's arms, and what 

Is Beauty in the Grave ? 



o -o 

104 POETRT OF THE HEAET. 

Go ye, to ■whom are faultless forms 

And lovely features given, 
To manifest that still below 

Is something left of heaven — 
Go ! in humility forget 

The charms ye cannot save ; 
Look, hence a little hour, and see 

Your Beauty in the Grave. 

And look upon the laughing earth, 

Where spring, in careless play, 
Puts forth its fairest blossoms, but 

To deck them with decay. 
And look upon the face of all 

That's beautiful and brave : 
On eveiy blessing lent to man 

Are traces of the Grave. 

Yet gaze on One from whom that trace 

May never pass away, 
Though He corruption never saw. 

Nor in its realm could stay : 
And see hi the immortal scars 

That may the sinner save, 
The victory of Him, who came 

In ^eauty from the Grave I 



6 



o 

POETRY OF THE HEART. 105 



THE TEACHER. 

I saw the Teacher Love had tasked ; 

Her ej'e was bright, the pearls 
Of Truth dropt from her mouth, as asked 

She questions of her girls ; — 
And as thej' plcasaiitl}- replied, 

And gave the simple rule — 
I said that coronetted Tride 

Might learn at Sunday School. 

I saw the Teacher them entreat 

The Saviour now to love ; 
On earth to lie below his feet, 

That they might rise above ; — 
And as the blessed tear-drops came 

From sorrow's troubled pool, 
I said, ' Religion's holy flame 

Is lit at Sunday School.' 

I saw the Teacher at the bed 

On which a scholar lay ; 
Her heart was full — she wept, and said : 

' This flower will pass away !' 
And while she fanned that flushing face, 

The fever's rage to cool — 
I thought Compassion had a place 

With themes at Sunday School. 



o o 

106 rOETRT OF THE HEART. 

I saw the Teacher breast the wave 

Of storms the heart must know — 
It rudely towered above, and gave 

Her hope to gulfs below ;— 
And when I saw her cheerful look 

Who loved a Sovereign's rule — 
I knew submission's precious book 

"Was conned at Sunday School. 



THE CAPTIVE JEWESS. 

A Jewish lady of eiquiaite beauty had with her huoband been taken 
captive by the Saracen commander of a fleet cruiaing on the coast of Pal- 
estine. The brutal captain being about to commit violence on her person, 
she called to her buaband, who was within bearing, but in chains, and 
ajked turn, in Hebrew, whether they who were drowned in the sea should 
revive at the resurrection of the dead. He replied, in the words of Psalm 
68 : 22, ' The Lord said, I will bring again from Bashan, I will bring my 
people again from the depths of the sea.' Upon which, she immediately 
threw herself into the sea, and waa drowned. 

Though ne'er for thee on Shinar's plain 

Is reared the sculptured urn, 
Though Judah's harp ne'er swells the strain, 

Nor Salem's daughters mourn ; 

Though ne'er may minstrel's lyre of woe 

Thy early exit tell ; 
Though ne'er the dirge in numbers slow 

Shall hymn thy parting knell ; 

o-^ o 



Q . Q 

FOETRr OF THE HEART. 107 

Yet softly rests thy weary head, 

Where ocean's flowerets bloom; 
Beneath the deep thy coral bed 

Is Virtue's hallowed tomb. 

And oft, when evening's star alone 

Is trembling on the wave. 
The melancholy surge will moan 

Its requiem o'er thy grave. 

Then rest in peace ! and when no more 

The raging billows sleep. 
The Lord Jehovah shall restore 

And bring thee from the deep. 



A TRUE TALE. 

I long have thought man's heart, though formed to 

gentleness, 
And moulded by sweet Mercy, changes soon 
To unrelenting hardness, when exposed 
Unto the bright rays of prosperity. 
For I have seen the meek one chafe and rage, 
Yes, in his anger, tread on him that wore 
A form like to his own. I have beheld 
When he did spurn his fellow, and did curse 
The fatherless and widow in their want. 



) — ■ o 

108 POETKT OF THE HEART. 



I followed late unto the narrow house, 
One whom I knew in his more prosperous day ; 
Whose heart was ever open to distress, 
Whose hand was liberal to befriend. Yet he, 
Left to Adversity's rude grasp, found those 
That shared his cup and converse, distant now — 
Mean parasites, wlio shunned Affliction's door. 
And at that funeral many tears were shed — 
More, as it seemed, than death, our common lot, 
Alone should claim. I asked of her that leaned 
For needed help upon me, and who shook 
And wept as if her very soul did sob — 
The cause of this, so strange distress, and heard 
A tale of grief— my heart wept as I heard. 
A man of avarice, a pitiless 
Base worshipper of gold, had seized this son 
Of hard Misfortune ; from a sick bed, too, 
Ay, from a wife and babes, on whom disease 
And wasting sorrow long had fastened. 
Had torn him, and for lack of sordid coin, 
Doomed him to perish in the prison-house. 
His wife, faithful, as woman ever is. 
Though stricken, left him not. Even at the hour 
Of lus extremity, she closer clung, 
And neither want nor wretchedness could frown 
That tender, virtuous helpmate from his side. 
And, as she saw death hastily approach. 
And marked damps gathering, and no one near 
To aid the sufferer, the screams she sent 



O Q 

POETKY OF THE HEART. 109 

From miaery's abj-ss, one Avoulcl have thought, 
Might stir the dead. Yet no help came, and there, 
In that damp prison, in her v.-ild despair, 
She sat, and lield liis throbbing head, until 
Death's marble impress, fixed upon his brow. 
Told that his heart was broke. 



I long had loved thee ; thou wast dearer far 

Than all mortality beside could boast ; 

My pride, my glory ; thou, mj' chosen star! 

I loved thee well, but I do love thoc most 

Since the sad time that sickness writhed this frame; 

For well do I remember all the care 

That, gathering round thee, clouded thy young 

brow. 
The while thou lean'dst o'er me, Avith looks the 

same 
Of tenderness, that first taught me to bow 
At Goodness' shrine, a Avilling votary there. 
A WIFE I what tie, love, can with this compare? 
Best of God's gifts, where all of loveliness 
Is given, to soothe the sojourner below — 
0, hard his passage through life's wilderness, 
Who has not Woman to assuage his v/oe ! 



I long had loved thee ; and, in early hours. 
Thy image came, with peerless beauty blended. 



o- 



110 POETKT OF THE HEAET. 



Then Pleasure beckoned me unto her bowers, 
And only sunshine on my steps attended. 
Dearest ! I sought thee in youth's halcyon day. 
Yet more I prize thee, now the mellow ray 
Of calm enjoyment gently steals along, 
Gilding with sober tint our humble way. 
Keniote from all the bustle of the throng. 
Our home is in each other, and the din 
Of pomp and splendor, love ! we shall not heed ; 
The world is not for us, and those within 
Who seek their aliment, are rich indeed. 
To us is given the soul-soothing song. 
And love to bless ; we ask no other meed. 

Though fond of retrospect — and I confess 
That on the past I 've gazed with keen delight. 
And, much reviewing, marked new cause to bless 
Heaven and thee, love ! — yet with fonder ken 
Thought glances onward to the coming night, 
The softly stealing night of being, when 
"We too shall downward tread the narrow vale 
That shadows forth into eternity — 
The pathway fraught with Eden's primal balm. 
Leading to heights of peace, where travellers see 
The lightning fork below, but feel no harm, — 
And hear the tempest rave, no storms can them 

assail. 
While hand in hand we journey on, how sweet 
The converse of departed hours ! the tale 
Of other days will 'guile our pilgrim feet. 



c o 

PCEIET OF THE HEART. Ill 



WHEN COLD IN THE DUST. 

Wlien cold In the dust sleeps this bosom of clay, 
And the captive enlarged wanders lightly and free ; 
"Wliile it treads the expanse of etemitj\ say, 
"Will it then be a stranger to love and to thee ? 

And shall the pure flame, that was kindled below 

From the spark ever burning on altars above, 

Be quenched in the clime where each breast feels 

its glow, 
"Where each harp wakes the theme, and the choral 

is love ? 

0, no ! in those regions of light and of joy. 
Will memory, in vigor, our friendship prolong ; 
We shall know as we 're known, and their converse 

enjoy. 
As we soar with the ransomed, and mingle the song. 

Unclothed with the frailties that fettered us here. 
Each scene of past anguish forgot by us then — 
The cloud thathas hovered will there disappear. 
And the sunshine it veiled will illumine again. 

Freed alike from each sorrow that reigned in the 

breast. 
And the bliss that shone dimly or sparkled on care. 
The revealings of joy will but quicken its zest, — 
Immortality seal what it ne'er can impair ! 



o 



112 rOETRT OF THE IIEAJIT. 



LITERATURE FOR THE SEA. 

The Sailor sells his life away ; — 

From first to latest breath 
He toils tor iiiirequitii'.^ pay, 

And yets the wages — Death. 
The Sailor hkikIis it when Uic winds 

His topsails take aback ; 
And small his care, in wind or cahn, 

What berth's for honest Jack. 

For Jack I whom starboard, larboard gales 

Sweep windward and to lee ; 
"Who wavers like a feather tost 

Between tlie skv and sea. 
That boiling sea his j^rave — the which 

Has many a Sailor sliared : 
That angry sky his home, luid he 

A spirit unprc.iared. 

For Jack, who ' swigs the flowing can,' 

And boldly asks to know, 
Than lie, where stands a l)etter man 

To take the world in tow ! 
Who In the maintop lias his pipe, 

And ril)aldry in chesty 
In watch and watch tlie silly song, — 

In steerage, oath and jest. 



I 



o o 

POETRT OF THE HEART. 113 

Poor Jack I —while we have chased the night 
Impatiently, from iliiui, 

Thou, to the intellectual light 
Ilast been forever blind. 

We 've caved not 1 — yet a brighter day- 
Is dawning now for thee ; 

And knowledge, hid in church and school, 
Ileuceforth shall take the Sea. 

The blessed Bible in thy hand, 

Let chart and compass fail ! 
Thy feet sludl on its promise stand, 

Thy heart luft" to the gale. 
'Twill teach thee how the s.oul lias cheer. 

When breakers boom along ; 
In joj' and grief, in life and death. 

Poor Jack shall have his song! 



KEADING PRESCOTT'S FERDINAND AND 
ISABELLA. 

Thou callest up the daj's of j'ore, 
Their dreams of romance here again ; 

Enchantments of the gorgeous Moor, 
And pride and chivalry of Spain. 
8 



o- 



•o ■■ 

114 rOETRT OF THE HEART. 

The beauty of the warrior-queen. 
To wliich the Spanish heart was wed — 

Inquisitorial men, whose keen 
Dark glances smote the spirit dead. 

Zahara, in the fierce attack — 
The Crescent glittering in the van — 

The sorrows of Alhama's sack, 
Where Andalusia played the man. 

Abdallah's daring, and the zeal 
Of Alcayde Ilamet in the fray ; 

When for the Cross Castilian steel 
Struck sharply Velez Malaga. 

And Malaga, whose ruin told 
Her victor's master lusts were two, — 

Whom love of blood and love of gold 
Spoke the Assassin in the Jew. 

And wondrous Mind's impatient leap — 
Discoverj-'s standard folds unfurled — 

That roused old monarchies from sleep 
To gaze upon a virgin world. 

Historian ! beckoned by thy hand 
Through sober Truth, thy wizard page 

Seems only Fancy's fairy land, 
And I on pleasant pilgrimage. 



O- o 

POETKX OF THE HEAKT. 115 



THEY SHALL LIE DOWN AUKS. l>f THE 
DUST. 

Ye hapless ! who repining grieve 

At poverty and ill, 
Who, doubtful, question heaven's decree, 

And murmur at its wUl, 

Think ye that affluence is the source 
Whence unmixed blessings flow ? 

Think ye that gold can satisfy, 
Or splendor, peace bestow ? 

Mistaken race ! - alas, how few 

This panacea boast ; 
Ye labor, but for bliss untrue, 

The care and toil are lost. 

Go, learn content ! for riches yet 

Have never fed the mind ; 
Go, learn content ! the coffered wretch 

May ne'er enjoyment find. 

The costly robe of Tyrian dye. 

Oft hides some bosom care ; 
And beauty's smile and beauty's wit 

Conceal the latent tear. 



6- 



o 

116 POETRT OF THE HEAKT. 

Art thou obscure ? — the bitter cares 

Of genius are not thine ; 
Unknown ? — rejoice, for thou art free, 

No slave at folly's shrine ? 

Thine are affection's purest sweets, 

And thine is love's caress ; 
Approving peace within thy heart, 

A Providence to bless. 

Thine are the beauties of the globe, 

Tlie charms tliat sense allure ; 
For thee j'on azure glories burn, 

Say, mortal ! art thou poor ? 

The hopes that shine along life's path, 

To cheer thee, too, are given ; 
The Star tliat pomts the wanderer's way 

Shall lead thee to thy heaven. 

And while, lamented by the great. 

The rich repose in claj', 
Thou, too, wilt seek thj- final bed. 

And slumber sweet as they. 



I 



■h 



Q -0 

POETKY OF THE HEART. 117 



I CANNOT BUT SIGH. 

I cannot but sigh, ■when the friends of my youth, 
Who repaid -with fond ardor tlie love that I gave, 
Wlio tendered their pledge on the altar of truth. 
Forgetful return to their rest in the grave. 

I cannot but sigh, when the visions of joy. 

That rose on gay childhood, and sought to allure. 

Like the dreams of the wretched, but smiled to 

destroy, 
Or adorn the bright sketchings they failed to ensure. 

I cannot but sigh, while reviewing the years. 
When hope in this bosom beat ardent and high ; 
0, 3Iemory ! what art thou ? — a record of tears, 
Of meteor-enjoyments, that sparkle and die. 

I cannot but sigh, when futurity's scroll 
Unfolding, gives sign of no pleasure in store ; 
When regret for the past still remains on the soul. 
While the present is lost in aspiring to more. 

I cannot but sigh, when heart-stricken I scan 
The victims of misery that float down the stream ; 
And even recounting the bliss of frail man, 
I cannot but sigh, for that bliss is a dream. 



o- 





118 FOETET OF THE HEAKT. 



JiUERICAlf SUNDAY SCHOOL UNIOX 
BUILDINGS; PHILADELPHIA. 

I asked the passenger for -whom arose 
These statelj^ buildings, bold, j-et beautiful 
In due proportion ; speaking to the eye 
Of taste aud symmetry ? — And he replied : 
' Time was, when knowledge of the Holy One, 
His wisdom and perfections, was confined 
Unto the hoary. Limited to age 
Were things of godliness. Days only spake, 
And years held converse with the mysteries 
Redemption had disclosed. The aged fed. 
And richly fed, on manna ; but the child 
Knew not of Bethlehem, nor, wondering, heard 
The simple story of the manger, nor 
Of Him, the Blest, whose early wisdom shamed 
The Rabbi ; Avho unto his love took up 
Young children, and gave honor unto them 
Of Bethphage, when they met the Sufferer 
With palm and song. Thus was the mind a blank, 
Whereon the devil wrote strange language. Here 
His tares the subtle adversary sowed, 
And ignorance and wild disorder flourished — 
A baneful harvest ! Childhood waxed to youth, 
Yet knew not God : youth unto manhood grew. 
Yet mocked the father's prayer, and scorned the 
mother's tear. 



-o 



POETRY OF THE HEART. 119 



One* came at length, who, imitating Him — 

Israel's kind Shepherd — gently led the j'oimg 

Out of sin's path, into the narrow way 

Of life. And he of the proud look was taught 

Humility ; the tongue of blasphemy 

Lisped Canaan's accents ; stubborn knees were 

bowed. 
And God's high Sabbath witnessed Wisdom's call 
Unto the young. It was a goodly work ; 
It prospered ; — 't was His own ! Behold the assem- 
bly, now 
That throng the Sunday School ! See, on each brow 
Dove-like, sit blessedness and joy. Thou hear'st 
Their sweet and holy hymn : 'tis Jesus' Name 
Inspires the melody. To list that song. 
Warbled from lips so lovely, well might stir 
The flinty heart, and bid the infidel, 
Eebuked, with tears cry out, ' Lord, I believe ! ' 
They kneel — the infant worshippers — and they 
Prevail in prayer ; for has He not declared, 
Those that seek early, early Him shall find? 

Stranger ! this noble pile belongs to God. 
'T was given in faith and prayer. Hence flow tho 

streams 
That irrigate the land ; yea, that refresh 
The thirsty world. Hence goes the missionary, 
To plant God's nurseries, and to the work 



* Robert Raikes. 

— C) 



o 

120 POETRY OF THE HEART. 



To stimulate His servants. Hence the page 

Of sound Instruction, in the winning guise 

Of artless story, and tlie narrative 

Of holy children, early loved of God, 

And early gathered to the -vvhite-robed choir, 

Wings its glad way alike unto the hall 

Of opulence, and to the low abode 

Of poverty. The mighty influence felt, 

The fierce has wept, and many a softened heart 

Has owned its power; and many a child. 

Taught by the little messenger, has looked 

From couch of sickness to the Merciful, 

rieading in faith, ' IMy Father, art not Thou 

The Guide and the Preserver of my youth ! ' 

And thus has fled to glory. Who may tell 

In that glad day when God makes up his o-\vn, 

How many gems in the Jlessiah's crown 

Were gathered by such heralds i' 



o --.6 



o 

POETKT OF THE IIEAKT. 121 



PRAISE FOE DELIVERA2fCE FROM 
TESTILENCE. 

To God, who gave thee joj' for tears, 

And when it brooded o'er thee so, 
Rebuked the cloud that burst in fears, 

And on it bent his beauteous bow — 
Go, Man ! that didst to judgment feel 

Strange nearness, tlien, and trembled there; 
Go, and before thy I\Iaker kneel 

In deepest penitence and prayer. 

And "Woman ! o'er whose heart has swept 

The angel's wing — whose trusted stay 
Of iiope is fallen, and" who 'st wept 

O'er joys forever past avvaj' — 
Spared thus, that thou should'st perisli not. 

In loAvliness approach the Power, 
So oft invoked, so soon forgot — 

That shielded thee in peril's hour. 

Child ! to thy mother's joy restored, 

In fairest beauty blossoming — 
Yield, now, in offering to the Lord, 

The budding freshness of thy spring. 
For he preserved thee yet below. 

And shed upon thee dews of love. 
That tall, a:id strongly, thou mayst grow, 

A lovely plant for bowers above. 



o 

122 POETRY OF THE HEAKT. 



And ye ! whose chvelliiigs, hedged about, 

The stern destro3-cr passed hy. 
Who, when sad voices wailed without, 

"Within heard not the midnight cry — 
Go, with 3'our songs, to him that threw 

Salvation round your boi-ders then. 
And in that night of horror drew 

His curtain o'er ye — troubled men I 

Hark, from those beds of pain, a voice — 

Hark to the whisper from those graves : 
' Rejoice with fear, and 3-et rejoice, 

In Him that slays, in Him that saves ! ' 
To God, that gave us joj- for tears, 

To whom our ransomed lives belong ; 
To God, that chased away our fears, 

We come, with praj^er and sound of song. 



THE WEST. 

ye, to whom God's word reveals its privileges 
blest. 

Who hold the pearl without a price — think, think 
upon the West ! 

And think, as every precious boon of heaven comes 
up in view, 

Of those that dwelt where now ye dwell, that wor- 
shipped once with you. 

> — O 



O— 1 

POETRY OF THE HEART. 123 



For we have left our sunbright homes, the scenes 

of early da}', 
Our pleasant hearths, and all we loved, to wander 

far away 
In Avilds where voice of Sabbath bell breaks not 

upon the air. 
Where lifted not are hands In praise, nor bent the 

knee in prayer; 
And where come o'er the laboring heart its white- 
winged, happy hours. 
While warm tears gush, a tribute given to light 

tliat once was ours. 
ye, who prize the heavenly light, lit up within 

the breast. 
Think what it is to mourn it quenched, — 0, think 

upon the West 

The past ! —we fain would dwell upon the pages of 

the past. 
Though sad it is to read of joys too beautiful to last ; 
Yet we will yield in thought again unto his fond 

caress. 
Who listened to our lisping prayer, and said that 

God would bless ; 
Ay, and we feci the mother's kiss, which only she 

could give. 
When teaching us to bow the heart to Ilim who 

bade us live. 

o- 6 



o o 

124 POETKT OF THE IIEAKT. 



"We think, too, of the white-haired man who chid 

our careless youth. 
And well remember where his lips dropped sacred 

words of truth. 
And sadly comes to aching thought, with memory's 

quickened power. 
The Bible class, the Sunday School, and Prayer's 

rejoicing hour. 
ye, who revel in their light, who hear the gospel 

blest, 
Give praise to God, and succor here, — 0, think 

upon the "West ! 

Here, where tall forests wave their tops, the wild 

beast hath his den. 
The eagle hath her eyry built, unknown to steps of 

men ; 
And small birds hang their mossy nests on many a 

branching limb. 
And yield, at evening's peaceful hour, their pure 

and joyous hymn ; 
But rise for us no temple walls, nor points the spire 

to heaven. 
And many faint for Bread of Life, — to break it none 

are given ! 
Oft, too, by men who lust for gain, these solitudes 

are trod, 
"Who cast off fear, refrain from prayer, foes to them- 
selves and God ; 



0- 



C-^ — -Q 

POETRY OF THE HEART. 125 



The stillness of these lovelj' vales is broken by their 

curse ; 
By reckless sires the children led, soon wax from 

bad to worse. 
ye that hail the Sabbath mom, ye with the Bible 

blest, 
Speed, speed the Rose of Sharon here, to blossom 

in the West ! 



Valley of (be Slissisaippi. 



EPITAPH, 

TAKEN FROM A TOMB IN THE CATHEDKAI. OF 
sienna; ITALY. 

« ■Wine gives life ! it was death to me. I never beheld the morning sun 
with sober eyes ; oven mj bones are thirsty. Stranjer, sprinkle my giare 
with wine ; empty the cup, and depart.' 

Even here, where I long vigils keep. 

Do thou the goblet fill : 
In generous wine these relics steep, 

My bones are thirstj' still. 
Pour out oblations on my grave ! 

Dost start ? — nay, do not fear, 
For of that cup, the maniac slave 

Now, powerless, lies here. 



■o 



o — 

126 POETRY OF THE HEART. 

Is it not life ? Yet unto me 

Tlifr blight of hope it was : 
My j'cars were given to misery ; 

I curse thee, wine ! the cause. 
Brighter than moming was my lot, 

But serpents wreathed the bowl ; 
Give me of wine ! death quenches not 

Thirst that consumes the soul ! 

Cheerily laughs thj' sun ? — its beams 

Thou welcomest, yet I 
Never beheld them, save when dreams 

Of madness floated b^*. 
Ay, where in peace dust should recline, 

The worm gnaws on my heart ; 
Sprinkle the feverish turf with wine. 

Pour out the cup — depart ! 



UNION". 

OCCASIONED BY THE UNION OP TWO EELIGIOUS 
SOCIETIES. 

Two ranging flocks on Zion's hill 
Two shepherds leading them at •will, 
Like drops that in each other run — 
Have mingled heart and soul as one. 

(y . . _ _Q 



o ■ o 

I POETEY OF THE HEAKT. 127 

Apart, they dwelt in pastures green, 
Whose waters mirrored skies serene ; 
They knew their shepherd's gentle call, 
And the Chief Shepherd knew them all. 

Yet, blended now in holy love, — 
Resembling the redeemed above. 
Whom grace, as one, doth sweetly bind, 
And all to God in will and mind, — 

Shall they not win j^et more renown 

For Him they serve who wears the crown? 

So be it Lord ! — for this beseech 

Thy throne the taught, and those that teach. 

For this with prayer thy Truth they search, 
The basis of Messiah's church — 
For this, the shepherds and the flock 
Ask to be hid in Thee the Rock I 



SUMMER. 

Summer looks out ! how green and gay 
Is earth, how bright her floAvcrs ! 

'Tis nature's merry holida}-. 
And these her white-winged hours ; 



■o 



O ■ Q 

128 rOETUT OF THE HEAKT. 

The winter winds are hushed to rest. 

And storms, no more revealing 
Their terrors, sleep, —on ocean's breast 

The wanton breeze is stealing. 

Where 's noAv tlie frost that chained the brook, 

And storm that heaved the sea ? 
Tlie V. ild wind that the forest shook, 

The snow that clad the lea? 
Winter! thou'stfledl and men rejoice, 

And every bird in tune 
Tuts forth its little warbling voice, 

To welcome laughing June. 

Thus when on the benighted one, 

A wearj' wanderer driven, 
A castaway, unsought, undone. 

First shines the peace of lieaven — 
When the fair Sun of Righteousness 

In splendor, brightly glowing. 
Breaks through the sundering storm to bless 

Tliat heart, to overflowing — 

wliere's the tempest that liad spent 

Its fury on the broken ? 
For see ! the cloud of anguish, rent, 

Reveals the rainbow token. 
Lovely when wintry storms depart. 

Summer's glad smile to see ; 
Lovelier, when feels my drooping heart. 

One look, O God ! from thee. 

o 



